Philadelphia High: Class of 1776
by Historybuff
Summary: John Adams is the same obnoxious and disliked character we all know and love... only now, he and his fellow congressmen are high school students. Based on the movie/musical 1776. Quick note to avoid any confusion- This is set in modern times, not 1776.
1. Chapter 1

1

Tap... Tap...Tap tap... Tap tap tap!

"Edward!" John Hancock exploded. "Some of us are trying to take a test here! Do you mind?!"

Young Edward Rutledge stared up and dramatically snapped his pencil in half, thrusting the two broken pieces to the floor. John Hancock let out a sigh of relief and continued with his exam.

John Adams, who had been watching this entire spectacle, could not help but feel a little bit of resentment towards John Hancock. After all, he spent just as much time preparing for these tests as Hancock did, yet he still didn't seem to understand any of it. Numbers had never been his strong point. He much preferred to read or write a book. Because of his inefficiency in the subject of math, he had arranged for his girlfriend Abigail Smith to tutor him every Thursday and Friday. Unfortunately, because she was his girlfriend, on most days it was quite unlikely that he would actually concentrate on the subject. After all, was there a seventeen year old boy out there who would choose to discover the answer to five cubed times fifteen point nine two to the fifth power when they could take in the essence of a young lady who smelled of vanilla and spring air? Not him! However, being that he was naturally a good student, John Adams stifled his daydream and returned to his test.

"Hmmm," he thought to himself, "Perhaps I should have studied a little bit more. Oh well. There is always next time!" And with that he Christmas treed the last fifteen answers and turned in his test. He tried to avoid the math teacher's glare. Why get offended? Did she actually have any hope for such a pathetic math student?


	2. Chapter 2

2

"Woo hoo!!" Edward Rutledge sprawled himself onto a desk and began what the entire biology class knew as his 'victory dance'. "I've done it! I am the lead in the school musical! Is it really any wonder why they picked me? Just look at me! I'M BEAUTIFUL!" John Adams glanced up at this strutting peacock with disgust.

"Oh, why don't you just admit it, _John Adams_?! You think I'm gorgeous!"

A brief pause. "I think nothing of the kind."

"Oh yes you do! How else would I have nailed that audition? Being my partner in English class should have been enough to teach you that I'm not much of an actor... or a speaker... or... the least bit literate."

"All right, Edward... I will admit that never in my life have I ever seen anyone destroy Hamlet quite as well as you did."

"Ah ha! I knew I could get you to acknowledge my physical BRILLIANCE!"

This 'brilliant' little scene would have probably gone on quite a bit longer, but just as John Adams was about to deny saying anything of the kind, the sound of heaving and choking came from the other side of the lab.

"Help! Someone!" Thomas Jefferson cried out. "Richard Lee stuffed too many dead frogs in his mouth again!" Without hesitation, Ben Franklin ran to Richard's assistance and after a few minutes of CPR the half brain dead ninth grader was revived.

"Gee Golly Wiz! That's gotta be a new record, Tom! Fifteen fogs! FIFTEEN! Maybe that will get me into the Guinness Book of World Records!"

"Of course it will, you moron," John Adams thought to himself. "No one else would ever do something that stupid or nauseating."

"I bet you're all feeling pretty stupid now," Richard exclaimed, rising flamboyantly. "You all told me I couldn't do it. That I should just give up. Well look who the losers are now!" The room became dead silent. All of a sudden, Richard became a little dizzy and began to sway.

"Don't mind me," he chuckled. "It just the formaldehyde. It makes me a little woozy! I'll be better by tomorrow morning... I just hope I don't have convulsions again like LAST time!"

"Maybe someone should take him to the nurse," James Wilson quietly suggested to his friend, John Dickinson, who was standing by him.

"No, let's not. He's just going to do it again. Maybe if he dies of formaldehyde poisoning, we'll get his high tech Bunsen burner," Dickinson whispered. James Wilson sniggered at the thought.

John Adams, who originally had been genuinely concerned over Lee's health (both physical and mental) now felt absolutely no obligation to help such a big idiot. "The best thing they could do would be to lock him up and put him in a straight jacket," he thought to himself. He grinned deviously at the idea.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Lunchtime. This was John Adams' favorite part of the day, besides English class and going to work on the school paper after school. But what to choose, what to choose! There was the green slop, the blue slop, the red slightly more gooey slop... AND IS THAT KIDNEY?!

He glanced over at John Dickinson, who was daintily scooping a bit of the green slop and plopping it down onto his tray. Observing him intensely, Dickinson's friend and minion James Wilson chose the exact same thing, putting it on his plate with the exact same rhythm.

"Disgusting," Adams thought to himself, wondering why Dickinson deserved such admiration bordering on obsession and more importantly, why he, John Adams, could not find anyone who was that easily manipulated and controlled. Finally, Adams reluctantly picked up the ice cream scooper dipped in the brown slop and took a big hunk of it for himself. Better than nothing, he supposed.

Now the second most important decision was to figure out where he wanted to sit. There of course was Abigail's table, but he felt as though he was always intruding when he sat there, being that Abigail preferred talking to her girl friends at that time of day. They were all in the same embroidery club. 'Nothing Beats PINS!!' That was their motto. John Adams continued to scan his eyes over the room. After a moment of debate, he decided to go for the table far on the left, the table belonging to no other than his good friend Ben Franklin.

"Ben, where were you last night when I needed you?" Adams inquired, or rather cried out. Ben looked up startled, a big slab of bologna hanging from his mouth. "What?" Adams asked, finally noticing the fact that the room had grown chillingly quiet.

"Now that's just sick," Edward Rutledge murmured to his colleagues.

"Sorry. I forgot. My mom tells me that I should watch my volume in public," Adams whispered.

"Yeah. You think? What did I miss out on?" Ben continued to devour his sandwich.

"Well," Adams started, putting down his tray and taking his seat next to his friend, "For one thing, John Dickinson is being a TOTAL jerk!"

"Maybe there's just something about guys named John," Ben muttered to himself.

"All I want is for him to give me a chance at making some changes here," Adams continued, oblivious to Ben's rather insulting comment. "The stupid thing is that if I were able to make some changes at this school, he would be just as well off as the rest of us. But NO! _Of course not_! That might ruin his precious reputation! God forbid he's affected!"

"What did you expect me to do about it?"

"I don't know! A little support would have been nice! After all, you're the oldest kid working on the paper. Everyone looks up to a senior. Even John Dickinson!"

"Well, I'll be there today. The only reason I wasn't there yesterday was because I had a doctor's appointment." Adams looked down, remembering that Ben had broken his foot.

"How long until the cast comes off?"

"Three weeks," Ben sighed.

"That's too bad. Anyway, what do you think I should do about this?"

"John, the only way you even have a chance at printing your controversial articles is to take them down to the printing room yourself before anyone gets a chance to read them."

"Yeah. I'm sure John Hancock would be happy if I did that."

Adams looked across the room at John Hancock, who was slurping up his red gooey slop as though he enjoyed it. He was seated next to his good friend Charles Thomson. Adams knew that Hancock secretly liked his articles. He was just afraid to admit it because he knew it would get him into trouble. That was why Hancock had decided, right from the time when he became president of the newspaper, that all of the articles printed would have to be approved of by at least half of the people working on the paper. It was the only fair thing to do. That way, if the majority wanted to print groundbreaking articles that could get them into trouble, he could allow it with a clean conscience. John Adams understood this, but nevertheless, it made things rather difficult for him, since over half the paper was under the amazingly strong influence of John Dickinson. John Adams adored change. He thought the only way to improve Philadelphia High would be to bring its faults to everyone's attention. If he was reprimanded for doing this, so be it. But Dickinson was not willing to take that risk. And until he was, Adams knew that his own influence over the paper would truly be nonexistent.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"Me llamo... Juan Adams. Y tu?" John Adams stuttered through his Spanish dialogue. Abigail rolled her eyes and went on.

"Me llamo Abigail. Como estas?" The room grew increasingly quiet as John Adams realized that he had forgotten his second line. But he must remember! Otherwise, he would get points deducted.

"Uhhh... Yo...soy...un...bacalao." A sea of laughter swept through the class, led by no other than John Dickinson. "What?" Adams asked, indignantly.

"Senorita Smith asked you how you were, John Adams," their teacher, Senor McKean explained.

"And? What did I say?"

"You said that you are a codfish."

"Rather fitting, don't you think?" Dickinson muttered to James Wilson. Wilson began to laugh as though he had never heard anything quite so amusing in his life.

"Your line is... 'Muy bien. Y tu?' " Senor McKean explained. Adams winced as McKean scratched down a big MINUS FIVE on poor Adams' grade sheet. He took a deep breath and continued. H must finish this stupid thing without giving Dickinson another opportunity to make fun of him. But after stumbling through the rest of his speech, he realized that this goal was impossible to accomplish. As soon as Abigail finished her last line, Adams jumped towards his seat and buried his face in his textbook. Once the awkward moment had passed, Dickinson haughtily strutted to the front of the room, followed by his shadow. They both performed their lines beautifully, not only remembering the exact wording, but putting a sense of character into their simple Spanish story. As soon as they were finished, they accepted their unsoiled grade sheets and went back to their desks. Adams watched with contempt as Dickinson 'accidentally' dropped his paper with the large 100 written across it right under his eyes.

"Whoops," he said nonchalantly, picking it up, smiling maliciously all the time. "Hmmm. Fancy that. Only thirty nine points higher than yours." Adams flushed, not only with embarrassment, but with rage. Dickinson sensed it. But that was what he was after, wasn't it? All he ever did was try to get under poor John Adams' skin. He was a thorn in Adams' side and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. But before Adams could say anything, the bell blasted into his ears.

"All right class. Tomorrow we will finish with the dialogues," Senor McKean called out, perfectly away that no one was actually listening to him. Adams carefully placed his books into his Led Zeppelin book bag. He examined him bag, realizing how long it had traveled with him, to and from school. He inconspicuously began to look over Dickinson's leather pack, which his girlfriend had bought for him last Christmas.

"Not everyone is lucky enough to have a rich girlfriend," he thought to himself. But it was this very thought that had ended his friendship with Dickinson oh so many years ago. Well, actually it was only two years ago, when they were both freshmen. Adams and Dickinson had been best friends all throughout elementary and middle school. They were positively inseparable. Never had two people had so much in common. They thought alike on almost every subject and rarely had the need to confront each other. But in ninth grade, Dickinson met Mary Norris, and that was where the trouble began. Mary Norris was the daughter of a wealthy businessman. Under Mary's influence, John Dickinson decided that the most important thing in life was to be liked and to get ahead. How else would he get into an Ivy League university and from there receive the big cushy office job that he had desired ever since he saw how Mary's father lived. That was what Dickinson wanted. And he was willing to do whatever it took to get it, even if it meant neglecting his best friend. One day, after being blown off by Dickinson the third time in a week, Adams wrote a note to Ben Franklin, claiming that the only reason John Dickinson was popular was because he was a gold digger. Unfortunately, this note never reached Ben. Rather, it got mixed up in the articles for the school newspaper and was the front-page headliner the next day. Since then, Adams and Dickinson had decided that their friendship was totally over. Sometimes Adams missed having a friend that understood him so completely. The closest thing he had to that was Abigail. At least Dickinson had James Wilson, who practically worshipped him. But whom did Adams have? Just a senior who would be graduating that year and would probably never talk to him again after that. Life would be pretty lonely after Ben left, especially if Abigail ended up going to that private school her parents were trying to get her into. It was the same private school Mary Norris went to.

"Hmmm," Adams thought to himself. "Perhaps Dickinson and I are even more alike than we thought." At this, he turned to Dickinson , as though he had something important to say, but before he had the chance to say anything, Dickinson pushed by him, promptly knocking him into a trashcan.

"Watch where you are going!" Dickinson huffed, being echoed by his little shadow.

"Nope. We're not _that_ alike."


	5. Chapter 5

5

"But, Mr. Sherman," John Dickinson began. "James Wilson and I always work together on Chemistry projects. You can't expect me to work with _that_! Just look at him!" He pointed his finger at John Adams with obvious contempt.

"I'm sorry, John. But I've made up my mind that you all need to swap partners. How do I know if you all understand the subject when you always work with the same people who could be giving you all the answers? Besides, you have the highest grade in the class. And John Adams…doesn't. He could use your help." John Dickinson rolled his eyes and glanced over at his future partner who was no happier about the match than he was. "It's just for today. James Wilson, you will be working with our new student, Lyman Hall." At this, everyone turned to stare at the new kid, who they had not noticed until that moment.  
Lyman Hall cleared his throat nervously and began to wave weakly at the group. "Hi," he crackled. They were expecting him to continue, but he did not.

"All right everyone," Mr. Sherman summoned, while passing out papers to each row.

"This is your assignment. I expect it to be turned in by the end of the day. Get to work."  
John Adams stood and walked towards the lab table. Wasn't it just his luck, getting stuck working with the devil? The only reason John Adams was taking two science classes at the same time was because he wanted to get them over with. John Dickinson was taking two sciences at once because he was talented in the field. John Dickinson was talented at everything. He had a solid 4.0 grade point average and had never received anything below a ninety-six in any class since kindergarten. If only John Adams had been that lucky. He was lucky to get above a C in every class except for English, of course. That was his one talent.

"Step one," Dickinson began to read. "Fill beaker with substance A and add two milligrams of baking soda…" Adams waited for him to continue reading, but he did not.

"So do it!" Dickinson snapped. Realizing that apparently it was his job to run around like a faithful dog, Adams reluctantly took the beaker and followed the directions exactly as Dickinson had told him to. "Step two… Light the Bunsen burner and place beaker over flame with prongs for _exactly _forty-five seconds. _No longer_!"

Adams picked up the sparker and turned on the gas. He went to light the burner, but was stopped suddenly by his own terrible fear of flames. He felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. But he had to do it! He mustn't allow Dickinson to remember all those times in eighth grade when he forced him to light the flames because the sight of matches made him cry. Oh no! That would definitely NOT happen again. Although, in reality, Dickinson would have no right to make fun of him. After all, the reason why Adams was so petrified of flames was because when Adams was five years old, Dickinson had decided that it would be fun to catch him on fire with a candle. When Adams really thought about it, he realized that Dickinson had never really been that great of a friend.  
His hand trembling, John Adams lifted the sparker to the burner and gently squeezed the two metal prongs together. The fire did not actually light, but the very thought of a flame made Adams jump back and throw the sparker across the room, hitting poor Lyman Hall in the back of the head. Dickinson hid his face in his hands. Lyman Hall rapidly turned, more startled than injured.

"I am _so _sorry!" Adams exclaimed.

"It's… fine," Lyman Hall choked, rubbing the back of his skull. "I just… I may need an ice pack." He crossed the room to go speak to Mr. Sherman. As he passed John Adams, he handed him the sparker. Adams looked up fearfully at Dickinson, who snatched it from him and lit the fire with perfect ease.

"Ok, now that that little spectacle is over," Dickinson hissed, returning to the direction sheet, "Step three… Ok. You are NOT in charge of this step."

"What? What is it?" Adams asked, now quite intrigued.

"While beaker is being heated, slowly add two milliliters of mystery acid to substance in beaker. Caution: Substance may overflow. DO NOT PANIC." Adams looked down at his hands, not wanting to admit that Dickinson was right in forbidding him from starting this step.

"Well… I could try. I'm not TOTALLY useless."

"Since when?" Dickinson lifted the acid and craftily poured exactly two milliliters into a graduated cylinder without even having to look down.

"Look, I can do this. Just give me a chance. You know, you're not the ONLY one who can do anything in this class."

Dickinson stared at him, absent-mindedly sloshing the acid around in the cylinder. All at once he slammed the acid down on the table and began to walk away.

"Fine! Go ahead, genius! See where it ends up! If you need me, _which you will_, I'll be working on English homework." Adams stared after him, suddenly uncertain of whether or not protecting his pride was really worth the loss of a truly fantastic lab partner.  
He sighed deeply and picked up the acid. He began heating the beaker. "Exactly forty five seconds. NO LONGER! I can do this." He looked over the directions as he held the beaker over the flame. "Hmmm… I have to pour acid into the beaker _while _heating it?! I can't do that!" He felt himself beginning to panic. Not only was he a terrible chemist, but if he had to do anything that involved a Bunsen burner, his judgment would go from limited to extinct. "John!" he cried out. "John Dickinson!"

Dickinson, who had been intensely writing something down, jumped up rapidly and ran to Adams' side.

"What is it?" he inquired.

"I have to pour in the acid at the same time?!"

"Yes. So?"

"I can't do that! I'll pour it all over the place!"

"No you won't! Just try it!"

"Well… All right." John Adams picked up the graduated cylinder.

"Wait… Don't pour it all in at once!" Dickinson shouted out. But it was too late. Within a split second, the entire beaker exploded, covering both of them with the boiling acidic substance. Surprisingly enough, the person who stood out the most during this moment of pandemonium was James Wilson. As soon as the explosion occurred, he leaped up, took hold of John Dickinson and dragged him to the shower, screaming all the time.

Unfortunately, no one took quite as good care of Adams. He wailed and flapped his arms like a chicken until finally, Mr. Sherman, who had been assisting Lyman Hall with his _minor_ injury, made his way across the room and pulled Adams to the same shower. After a few minutes under the hot water, Adams and Dickinson both managed to stumble to the desks and sit down, rather exhausted by the whole production.

"Oh John!" James Wilson wailed. "John! Are you OK? Are you blind? If so, _I _will be your eyes! Don't worry, John! _I _will take care of you!" Dickinson pulled his arm free, which James Wilson had been clutching for the past five minutes.

"I'm fine, James. I had my goggles on… _Thank heavens_!" At this he turned to Adams, who stared guiltily at the floor.

"All right. Everyone return to your labs! The excitement is over." Mr. Sherman bent down next to the two soaking wet boys. "You two will be fine. You may have rashes where the acid contacted you for a while. Hope you don't have any beauty pageants coming up. But just to be safe, I think I should send you both to the nurse." Mr. Sherman picked up a hall pass, scribbled something down, and handed it to them. John Adams took it and exited the room, followed by Dickinson.

"I'll never forget you, John Dickinson!" Wilson called out dramatically. Dickinson cringed and quietly followed Adams down the hallway.


	6. Chapter 6

6

"All right, boys," the nurse announced, roughly applying a rather large dollop of cooling cream to the bright red burnt spots on John Dickinson's face. "You will be OK. Just use this cream on your burns three times a day. The rashes will clear up within a few days."

"A few days?!" Dickinson exclaimed, pushing the nurse's hand away. "I can't be blotched up for 'a few days.' It just so happens that I have a life!"

"What? Will your little girlfriend not like it?" Adams ruthlessly teased. Dickinson whipped his head and glared at Adams with the wrath of a hurricane.

"Well, there's nothing much I can do, young man," the nurse explained, handing each boy a tube of cooling cream. "I guess you'll just have to rearrange your date."

"Yes, of course," Dickinson grumbled, continuing to stare accusingly at Adams. "I bet you planned this."

"Oh yes! That's it! You caught me! It's my sole purpose in life to sabotage your little relationship!" Adams exploded, waving his hand to emphasize his sarcasm. Dickinson said nothing, but stared into a mirror, wincing at the sight of his polka dot face.


	7. Chapter 7

7

After this terrible day which brought forth absolutely nothing but pain and embarrassment, John Adams finally made his way down the main hallway and entered a room with a big sign on the door that read, "School newspaper: Meets every day after school." He opened the door, cringing at the sound of the squeaky hinges and confidently sauntered towards Ben Franklin.

"I heard you had a little mishap in Chemistry," Ben teased.

"Yes, well... It was really John Dickinson's fault." Yes, Adams was aware that this was a total lie, but he was willing to do anything to prevent Ben from thinking that he was incompetent... well... relatively speaking. "Where is everyone?"

"Well, Edward Rutledge had to go down to the theater to pick up his script. He got the lead in the school musical, you know. Rather fitting in my opinion."

"Why? What's the play?"

"Rocky Horror Picture Show."

"Oh," Adams grinned. "Very appropriate. I bet he'll love the costumes." Without

thinking, Adams began picturing that cocky little bob o' lincoln strutting around in a skin tight leotard... But then Adams realized how disturbing it was for him to be picturing this and quickly turned his attention back to Ben. "And where's everyone else?"

"Hancock and Charles Thomson will be coming around shortly. They wanted to pick up a couple of slurpies from the cafeteria."

"And uh... Where's Dickinson?" he asked, hoping not to sound too interested.

"Oh I'm sure he'll be around shortly. After all, the paper is just about ready to be printed. I doubt he would take the risk of allowing you to get any of your 'evil' articles into it."

"Yes. I know that all too well." Adams searched around through his Led Zeppelin bag and after a moment pulled out a large purple folder. He opened it and picked out several sheets of paper covered in his chicken scratch. "Read this, Ben. I think it's gold." Ben reluctantly took the papers and began reading. Adams watched intensely, hoping that it would be to his liking. "Well?" he asked, anxiously. "Is it good?"

"Oh... Yes, John. It's very good."

"You hesitated."

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"It's good, but you know as well as I do that Dickinson won't allow it to be printed."

"Yes, I know," Adams murmured, rubbing his face in frustration. "But maybe if I-" Before Adams could finish his thought, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of that squeaky door swooshing open, revealing Stephen Hopkins.

" 'Sup?" He asked, sloshing towards a chair.

"Hello, Stephen. Do you have your articles ready?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, of course I do. DUH!" He threw a crusty manila folder at them. Adams picked it up, avoiding the patches of dried on grape jam.

" 'The Importance of Staying Sober in School'," he read. "Rather ironic that you wrote this."

"I know, right?" Stephen laughed as he pulled out a flask from under his shirt. He took a big swig and leaned back in his chair, preparing for his three o' clock nap.

"Excuse me," a voice came from the hallway. Everyone turned towards it. The quiet little voice belonged to than Lyman Hall. "Is... Is this where the newspaper team meets after school?"

"Yes, it is," Ben answered.

"Oh good. But... Where is everyone? I thought meeting started at three o' clock sharp?"

"Oh, they'll be coming in any time now." The answer came from the back of the room. It was Mr. McNair, the school's head custodian. Everyone loved McNair, neither because of his bright, friendly personality (which he did not possess) nor because of his sharp wit and obvious good looks (again, which he did not possess). No, everyone loved McNair for one simple reason. He was just SO easy to annoy!

"Oh... Ok. I guess I'll just..." Lyman Hall did not finish, but gently put his coat and book bag down on a desk and sat, nervously rubbing his fingers together.

Within a few minutes, the other writers began to show up. This included Samuel Chase, the school pig, Caesar Rodney, the hypochondriac, and Thomas Jefferson, the band geek. Adams watched each boy enter with interest.

"You'd think just one year we could get a girl to join the paper," Ben grumbled, opening up his history book.

"What use would girls be to us?" Adams asked oh so innocently. "They would just want to add in articles about make-up and fashion. We have Edward Rutledge for that." As if on cue, the door swung open once again, revealing that little dandy, waving his script through the air.

"It's just a jump to the left... AND THEN A STEP TO THE RIGHT!!" he sang, surprisingly on key. "Sorry I'm late. I'm sure y'all missed me... Especially you, Mr. Adams!" He winked at poor John Adams and haughtily took his seat, placing his feet on Adams' desk.

"Anyway," Adams continued, turning to Ben, refusing to give that little fribble the time of day. "If we had girls working on the paper, nothing would ever get done! The guys are too easily distracted."

"Surely you aren't saying that you think Abigail Smith would be useless on the paper."

"Well... No... She's an exception..." Adams mumbled, looking down at the wallet size picture of Abigail he always carried in his pocket. "But... Imagine if we had Martha Wayles working on the paper. I guarantee nothing of any consequence would ever be printed." Though Adams did not notice, Ben saw from the corner of his eye the tall figure of Thomas Jefferson rapidly turning and glaring at John Adams. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but, being that he _was_ Thomas Jefferson, he inconspicuously turned back to his articles and continued to write in silence. Before Adams had time to continue making his point, John Hancock entered, followed by Charles Thomson.

"All right, let's get started," Hancock sighed, sitting at the front of the room. Charles Thomson said nothing, but gently sat down next to Hancock. "I guess we should begin by having everyone present their articles... Who first?" Noticing Dickinson 's absence, Adams stood, preparing to take advantage of the audience while they were not under Dickinson 's influence. But alas! Right as he began, who should enter but John Dickinson, his face covered in that white pasty cream. Behind him, of course, was James Wilson, clutching at Dickinson's leather bag.

"Sorry we're late," Dickinson announced. "Personal matters to attend to."

"In other words, his girl wouldn't let him off the phone," Adams teased, for once getting a laugh from the crowd at Dickinson's expense. Dickinson glowered and took his seat, Wilson sitting next to him.

"I see you took the opportunity to read your articles aloud when you thought I wouldn't show up," Dickinson hissed. Adams said nothing, but looked over his paper, pretending not to hear. "Well, John Adams? Are you trying to get ahead by turning the crowd against me while I'm not here? How big of you."

"I have done nothing wrong, Dickinson. If you had bothered to show up on time, we wouldn't even be discussing this right now." Dickinson smiled sinisterly and opened up his bag. He pulled out his own articles and began to wave them around like a flag.

"Continue, Adams." Adams, who was never very convincing when he was nervous (a fact that Dickinson was well aware of), cleared his throat and looked towards the ceiling.

"John," he pronounced loudly.

Both John Dickinson and John Hancock looked up and replied with an inquisitive "Yes, John?"

"Hancock... I think I would like to look over my articles briefly before reading them."

"Fine, Adams. Would anyone else like to go first?"

"I would!" Edward Rutledge shouted out, jumping towards the front of the room. He ambitiously pushed Adams to the side, and lifted his bright pink paper to his eyes. "My article is entitled: 'School Uniforms Should Be Gone with the Wind'."

"That is so queer," Adams growled, covering his eyes in irritation.

"It suits him, don't you think?" Ben laughed. Rutledge had heard this entire side-conversation, but instead of getting offended, decided to be amused by it. Though someone as vain as Edward Rutledge would never actually say so, attention from such highly talked of men as John Adams and Ben Franklin made him feel quite special.  
Rutledge straightened his collar and started reading... Well... Rather he stumbled over each word, doing so at such a slow pace that by the end of the article, no one in the room was quite sure what it had been about.

"Ok..." Hancock said through his teeth. "I guess... It can go on the last page... Under the weather report... Near the comics." Rutledge beamed with all the pride that he could put forth. He arrogantly made his way back to his chair, giving John Adams one of his Southern teethy smiles.

Hancock handed Rutledge's article to Charles Thomson, who read over it. After a brief moment, he was the only one in the room, besides Edward of course, who had the faintest idea of what that article was supposed to be about.

"Charles, make sure you correct all of the grammatical errors," Hancock reminded. Edward stood up irritated.

"What makes you think I made any grammatical errors?"

"Trust me. You did." Edward plopped back down into his chair, obviously embarrassed. "Ok. Whose next?" asked Hancock.

"I want to go!" James Wilson shouted out, running to the front of the room.

"Ok. James Wilson... You were writing a short story weren't you?"

"Yes, I was. It was a thrilling adventure about a sixteen-year-old boy who would do anything to win the affection of the girl he loves. But today I thought I would do something a little different. I wrote a poem!"

"All right... Read your poem."

"This is my poem:

_'Your eyes are blue,  
you wear dark green,  
you have black shoes,  
They're always clean.  
I follow you,  
you evil brute.  
I think you're great.  
I like your suit.' "_

Now there had always been times where James Wilson's affection towards poor reluctant John Dickinson had been questioned, but this without a doubt took the 'fruit' cake.

"Um... James Wilson..." Hancock started, not wanting to say anything that could be taken as tactless. "Who... What exactly inspired you to write this... interesting poem?"

"Oh..." James Wilson murmured, his face flushing brightly. "Obviously it was inspired by the... girl I like."

"Do you often call the girl you like an 'evil brute'?" John Adams caustically inquired.

"What's it to you?" Wilson exploded. He slapped the poem down in front of Charles Thomson and returned to Dickinson's side. "So did you like it?" he whispered in Dickinson's ear. Dickinson, who was not expecting Wilson to boldly enter his personal bubble in a public place, jumped out of his skin at the sound of that creepy little freshman's voice. For a moment the crowd thought for sure that he was going to slap Wilson, but he controlled his temper and stiffly walked towards the window, wishing with all his heart that James Wilson would just spontaneously combust right then and there.

"Did anyone write anything... that people might be interested in?" asked Hancock.

"I wrote an article about the eating contest," Samuel Chase stated, struggling to get out of his chair. "I interviewed the winner and everything."

"Oh, that's great, Samuel! That's... Hey... Wait a minute. Didn't _you_ win the eating contest?!" Samuel did not reply but smiled evilly. "Ok. Just read it, Samuel." And Samuel obeyed Hancock's request. John Adams hated to admit it, but out of all the articles that had been read so far, Samuel's was the best. "I guess that will go on the front page this week," Hancock announced. "Who next? How about we just bite the bullet and have either Adams or Dickinson start the heated debate that is sure to be coming any minute now."

"Uh, Hancock," Dickinson called out. "If you recall, I finished my article a day early. I read it aloud yesterday. It was an interview with the head of the school board, Mr. George, discussing all the plans he has for our school in the future. Though I admit he didn't really give me a lot to work with, I believe it came out quite well. Don't you agree?"

Hancock brushed through a stack of papers on his desk until he came across a folder that contained three sheets of crisp white paper, covered in Dickinson's perfectly neat cursive. "Oh yes. I remember. Well written, yet rather dull. It can go towards the front as well. I guess that leaves you, John Adams."

"Ok, Hancock. I'll go," Adams announced, rising. "My article is about the event from last week that everyone was talking about. The title is: 'Mr. George: Numb as a Stick and Wants Students to Be So Too'. I got into details involving the incident when Mr. George refused to allow five students working on this paper to take a standardized test because they had sneaked in an article about how irrational Mr. George and the other members of the school board had been when terminating after school clubs."

"Now this sounds interesting-" Hancock started enthusiastically, but like always, was interrupted by Dickinson.

"Hancock, I vote for this article to be cut from the paper." John Adams' face became a bright purple. He clenched his fists, just once wishing that he could strike that agitating egotist.

"Why?!" Adams roared. "Why can't we add it, John Dickinson? Afraid that it will get you into some trouble? God forbid that should happen! It might affect whether or not you get into Yale or Harvard or whatever other fancy Ivy League school you are _bound_ to get into, if not because of your shining GPA, because of your DAZZLING connections!"

"Are you calling me a coward?"

"That's exactly what I'm calling you, you newspaper HACK!!"

"Well... At least I don't explode at every little bit of criticism that comes my way like a madman!"

"Madman! I, a madman? You...You..."

"What?" Dickinson challenged, leaning right into Adams ' face. "Where are your words? They can't be far and god knows we need the entertainment!" Dickinson burst out laughing followed by the cackle of every other guy in the room, with the exception of Adams, Ben, and Stephen Hopkins, who was still passed out in the back. Adams decided it would be better to save his breath. What he and Ben knew was that his plans were in fact being executed. But not by anyone in that room. No, Adams and Ben had come up with a plan themselves that would force people to act. And no one would have ever expected that it was being taken care of by the stupidest man on the paper.

"John Adams! I did it! I did it for you!" a voice cried out as it came closer and closer to the newspaper room. Adams looked up, quite intrigued. A loud crash was heard followed by a moan of pain. Then the door swung open, revealing Richard Lee. "Hi, everyone! Sorry about that. I tripped over a grasshopper that crossed my path in the hallway. John!" he ran towards John Adams, who was wincing, not the least bit sure of whether or not Richard was going to unintentionally injure him. "I got it! A petition signed by EVERY freshman!"

"I never signed a petition," James Wilson noted.

"Well, you don't count. You're not a real person. You're just a minion," Richard explained, not actually meaning to sound cruel.

"Minions have feelings too!"

"Focus, Richard!" Adams shouted. "What does it say?"

"It says that this newspaper staff should have the right to print absolutely anything it wants to and whatever is printed should have absolutely no impact on what grades writers receive or what colleges they get into." John Adams beamed with delight.

"This is wonderful, Richard! Now all we have to do is print this in the next issue and-"

"Hancock!" Dickinson exclaimed. "Again, I vote that this petition be cut from the paper."

"Well I vote that it be ADDED to the paper!" Adams shouted back, fearing that this may be the day that he finally attacked that obnoxious little- But his thoughts were interrupted before he could actually act on any of the murder scenes that had been going through his mind.

"I guess we are just going to have to take a vote. Thomson, keep tally." Thomson stood and prepared his paper and pen.

"Those who want this petition to be printed, raise your hands." Six students raised their hands, including Adams, Ben, Richard, Thomas Jefferson, Caesar Rodney, and Stephen Hopkins, who had finally awoke from his nap just long enough to smoke a doobie. Unfortunately, the rest of the room was quite unmoved.

"Wait, Hancock!" Adams pleaded. "Let's not vote quite yet... Maybe if we have time to convince the writers that this paper's independence from the control of the school board really is the best way to go, we can print the article and everyone will be happy."

"Yeah, like that's ever going to happen," Hancock scoffed, looking at Dickinson.

"It could! I bet that if I got a small group together, we could convince every person in this room that the school board's power over us is nothing but... a complete travesty!"

"I guarantee, John Adams, that you will never convince me of that!" Dickinson hissed.

"Well I certainly can try, can't I? Please, Hancock, give me this chance. I know that you want this petition to be printed just as much as I do. You just aren't saying so." Hancock glanced up, his facial expression proving Adams' statement to be correct.

"Fine. But the paper is due in three days. That means that you will have to have your case ready to present within the next 72 hours. You think you can be ready by then?"

"I know we can, Hancock."

"Who do you want in your group?"

"Well, I think I need Ben Franklin and... I guess Richard Lee." Ben looked up, surprised. "After all, we need a freshman."

"Sorry, John," Richard smiled, quite flattered. "I'd love to help you, but my family and I are going on a trip to _Jamaica_ !! I won't be here for the next three days."

"Well... We still need a freshman!" Adams looked around, panic beginning to set in. He was so close to his goal, yet why were these stupid little trivialities delaying him?! "Very well. Thomas Jefferson will help us then!" Jefferson jumped at the sound of his own name.

"No, Hancock! I can't. I have a date!"

"Yeah right. Ok, John Adams. You can have your little group. But you better be ready on time."

"Hancock!" Jefferson whined, leaping from his chair. "I really have a date! REALLY!"

"Right. Ok, Tom," Hancock whispered patronizingly. "You have a date. Who with?" Thomas was quiet for a moment, tearing at his thumbnail. Finally he looked up, his face glowing with confidence.

"Martha Wayles." The room, which was so quiet before, now roared with contemptuous laughter.

"Martha Wayles!" Hancock sputtered. "Really? Well, tell Martha Wayles that you will just have to reschedule your date with her. There is something a little bit more important for you to deal with."

"I hope she won't be too disappointed," Edward Rutledge teased. "Imagine such a thing. She wouldn't even go out with me! At that point, I just assumed that she wasn't into dudes!"

"I tell you she IS into dudes and she's into ME!" Jefferson stated at a volume that he had never reached before in front of people.

"Well, you'll just have to do without Martha Wayles for a while," Hancock laughed. "Come on, Charles. Let's go. I guess if Thomas Jefferson got a date with Martha Wayles, we might have a chance with hot girls too. Let's see who we can find!" Hancock and Thomson stood and gathered their books together. The others began following their example, all except Adams, Ben, and Thomas Jefferson, who reluctantly sat brooding. Eventually the room emptied, leaving the three in total silence.

"So... Where do we start, John?" Ben asked.

"I think I should explain the real reason as to why I forced Thomas Jefferson to join our group." Jefferson looked up intrigued. "I want there to be another article printed in the paper this week. Not a petition. Just a document stating the reasons of why the school board, in short, is a dirty sack of crap."

Thomas Jefferson was not quite sure of how he should respond to this. After a pause he muttered, "And you really thought that I would be the guy for it?"

"For a boy of sixteen," Adams stated. "You have a happy talent of composition and a remarkable felicity of expression."

"Yeah," Jefferson scoffed. "Well, that's nice of you to say, but I'm going on my date."

"Come on, Tom," Ben nudged. "Are you really trying to convince us that Martha Wayles is going on a date with _you_?"

"Is it really that hard to believe?" Jefferson snapped, rising from his chair indignantly. "Why can't you all just accept that a beautiful girl like Martha Wayles might be able to see something in a guy like me?!"

"It doesn't matter whether she does or does not like you! The fact is you are NOT going on the date tonight, whether or not that date is in fact real. You are going to pull an overnighter and write me the best article this paper has ever seen!" Adams commanded.

"Really? And who will make me?"

"I!"

"You?"

"Yes!"

"…How?"

"_By physical force if necessary_!" At this, Jefferson 's expression went from one of an angry giraffe to complete amusement.

"Yeah right! I guess I don't have anything to worry about then, do I? Move aside, pipsqueak." There were many things that people could safely tease John Adams about, but his height was not one of them. He believed that what he lacked in stature he MORE than compensated for with _spirit_!

"All right, carrot-top!" he hissed, furiously removing his jacket. "Let's go!" Adams lifted his fist, preparing to strike the startled Jefferson , when Ben finally decided that it was time to intervene. He grasped Adams by the wrist and pushed him into a chair.

"Come on! If you are going to knock out anyone, make it Dickinson! Or at least Edward Rutledge. I personally find him to be more irritating than the rest of them combined."  
"Of course you do," Adams thought. "Every time you get a girlfriend, he steals her from you." He decided not to say this out loud.

"Ok, Jefferson. If you really and truly have a date, I guess John and I can't stop you from enjoying yourself. Especially if it's with Martha Wayles." Thomas said nothing, but gazed down nervously at his sweaty palms. "You don't have a date, do you, Tom?"

"I do! It's just… I don't know."

"What is it, Tom?"

"What if I… blow it? It's not as if a girl like Martha Wayles would waste time on a guy if he made an idiot out of himself on the first date. She would have too many options."

"Well…" Ben mumbled, tossing a small rubber ball from hand to hand. "What if you were to have someone there to… help you?"

"What, like a double date or something?" Jefferson asked, intrigued.

"Not exactly. What if it were John and I?" At this, both John and Tom cried out in protestation.

"Never!" John exclaimed.

"Yeah. I don't want _him _on my date. He's obnoxious!"

"And disliked!" Adams joined in, willing to insult himself if it meant getting out of this grim situation. Ben smiled deviously, obviously having known already that they would both refuse to his request.

"All right. Let me put it this way. The three of us WILL go on this date with Martha Wayles. If either one of you put up a fight, I will _ruin _your high school lives."

"What could you possibly do?" Adams asked defiantly.

"I will side with Dickinson on every issue you may bring forth in the future."

"Yeah. Big deal. You're a senior. You'll be gone by next year anyway!"

"Plus, I'll tell Mr. Sherman and all the other teachers the REAL truth about how that fire started in Chemistry last month." Adams winced, remembering how he had told himself time and time again NOT to take his eyes off of that stupid terrifying flame and yet the _second _Abigail walked by his attention was totally lost… as well as half of the chemistry lab.

"Fine! I'll go on the stupid date!" Adams grumbled.

"What could you do to me?" Jefferson asked, though he did not doubt for a second that Franklin COULD do something to him.

"Oh. You would be much easier to destroy. I tell Martha Wayles and all the other girls about your little _experiment_ in drama class last semester." Tom flushed purple, reminiscing over the terrible day when he locked himself in the girl's costume closet… and decided for who knows what reason to find out what it was like to be a ballerina. Fortunately no one had seen, except for Ben, who opened the door for him.

"That may destroy my reputation for a while… But they would forget!"

"Oh please, Tom… The primping… The prodding… The PADDING!!"

"Shut up! I thought I was going to die in there!" Tom pleaded, burying his face in his arms. Adams shifted uneasily, not sure if it would be appropriate to laugh at Tom at such an instance. "Why do you want to go on my date, Ben? What's in it for you?"

"Well," Ben began, pompously straightening his spectacles. "Martha Wayles has plenty of connections. She could hook me up with one of her girlfriends. Or, if things don't work out between you and her, which they won't, I can have first dibs. See how well this works out for me?" Thomas Jefferson glared at the conniving weasel, wishing that he was brave enough to stand up for himself. But he wasn't. So he didn't.

"Ok, Jefferson," Adams sighed, irritably crossing the room to the door. "What time is this little date of yours?"

"Seven o'clock."

"And where is it?"

"We're going to Washington's Pizza Shack."

Adams smiled sourly. "How classy. And should we meet you there or are we all going together?"

"For the love of god, meet us there! Maybe I'll have the chance to explain how weird it is for me to be taking out two extra guys on a date."

"No. We will all ride together," Ben nonchalantly insisted. The other two turned and glared at him.

"What? If we don't, he might just get her to agree to go to another restaurant. Then we would be stood up!" Jefferson sighed and threw his pen down in despair.

"Fine, then. I will pick you two up and then we can go to get Martha. I guess I never really thought it would work out with her anyway."

Ben clapped his hands together joyously. "Well, it's all settled then. I'll see you boys tonight. I better get 'dolled up'. Who knows what may happen? Possibly something in my favor, if I am quite lucky, and if Jefferson is as big of a dork as I think he is... which he is." Ben stood and waddled his way out of the room, using a crutch to take pressure off his broken foot. Adams looked down in thought, but after a moment, quickly realized what the purpose was of them staying late and quickly ran to the door.

"Wait, Franklin! What about the petition?" But it was too late. Ben had disappeared, leaving John Adams to the unpleasant company of that discontented little band geek Thomas Jefferson.


	8. Chapter 8

8

John Adams rubbed his knee anxiously with one hand, holding the phone to his ear with the other.

"Look, I'm sorry I forgot about our date, Abby. You know you have to remind me about these things!"

"Not on our anniversary!" she cried.

"Our _anniversary_?!" Adams exclaimed, hoping that he had not done anything too rash at that New Years Party when he had a little too much punch.

"Yes! It has been EXACTLY fourteen months since you asked me out for the first time... today! And now your bailing on me, claiming that you _forgot_!" she said this word with such a tone of disgust that Adams couldn't help wincing.

"I'll make it up to you. How about this: I'll take you out for a nice romantic dinner, just the two of us! I'll get you roses, have a violinist play at our table... Maybe I'll even buy you jewelry. What do you say?" The line was silent for a few seconds and Adams wondered or rather wished that they had been disconnected. But alas! she spoke.

"A nice restaurant? Flowers? The whole enchilada?"

"Anything you want, my sweet." Another pause.

"You really are gonna get a violinist?"

"Well... If nothing else, I'll get Thomas Jefferson to play us a little something on his clarinet. The boy can play a mean Greensleeves." For the first time, Abigail began to laugh. "So what do you say? Let me off the hook just this once?" She sighed heavily.

"Fine!"

"Great."

"Pick me up tomorrow instead."

"That sounds wonderful... Oh wait..." Adams remembered that this whole petition business wouldn't be over for three days. "Actually... darling... I won't be available."

"Ok... How about the next day then?"

"I'm going to be preoccupied with the school paper for the next three days, Abby." She was quiet for a moment. But then she returned, her voice surprisingly cheerful for a girl who had just been rejected on her anniversary.

"Well... I guess we will just have to make do. I know! This Saturday the circus is coming to town. We can go on the Ferris wheel, buy cotton candy... Maybe you will even be able to get me one of those big stuffed bears... like you _tried _to do last time." Adams remembered the last time the circus was in town. He attempted to win Abigail one of those stuffed animals by playing that game where you throw the ball at the stacked milk bottles. Needless to say, he didn't get the bear. Instead he got a slightly torn muscle in his right arm and a really dirty look from the worker in the next booth that had been pelted with that stupid ball. Nevertheless, he WOULD win Abby the animal this year. Maybe he could throw rings around the bottles! But then he remembered that anything that had to do with physical activity left him a little inept. Oh well. It was a nice thought.

"I would love to take you to the circus Abby! Saturday would be... Oh wait." She sighed again, a bit more annoyed this time.

"What? Another newspaper emergency?"

"No. It's just that Ben and I have these really awesome concert tickets and... well... you do understand." Suddenly, there was a loud click. Adams hung up the receiver. Why were girls always so difficult?! But he had no time to think about this. Ben and Jefferson would be there any minute now, and he still had to get all "dolled up" as Ben had put it. He changed into a button-up shirt and a slightly nicer pair of pants. He wet his comb and pulled it through his jet-black hair, giving it kind of a sophisticated look. "I may be short... But I sure do dress up nice!" He rubbed a bit of cologne on his smooth chin (the poor boy had never grown a whisker in his life!) and pulled on some shoes. "My shoes are black, they're always clean!" he recited, laughing at the humiliated Dickinson's expense. Just as he opened the door, Thomas Jefferson pulled up in his old, beat up Cadillac. Adams cautiously opened the door and jumped in. "Nice car," he muttered sarcastically.

"Hey, it's better than a rusty old scooter, isn't it?" Jefferson snapped. Adams sat up straight, feeling as though he had the obligation to defend his scooter, rusty and old though it may have been.

"Lookin' good, John," Ben stated. Adams hadn't noticed him before. "If you keep dressing like that people might mistake you for Edward Rutledge!"

"God save me!" Adams murmured, absent-mindedly looking the car over, hoping that it wouldn't blow up at any moment. He began fiddling with his window, making it go up and down, up and down, the wind whooshing in and out of the car the entire time. Finally, Jefferson irritably pushed a button, which took away Adams' control over the window. "Hey!"

"You lost your privileges when you became annoying!" Jefferson explained rashly. Adams sat back, his arms crossed like a five-year-old brat.

"So where does Martha Wayles live, anyway?" Ben asked.

"About five miles north of here." And so the three of them sat silently for the next five miles until finally Jefferson pulled his big hunk of tin into the elaborate driveway of an ornate, eighteenth century house which stood five stories high.

"Wow..." Adams exclaimed staring up as though he were trying to find a constellation. "What would ever make a girl who lives in a house like this go for you?"

"We'll have to ask her when we get her alone," Ben whispered deviously. Jefferson sat for a minute, gaining his confidence, and then got out of the car and stiffly made his way to the front door. He rang the doorbell and waited anxiously. Ben and John watched intensely. Although neither one of them were particularly fond of the boy, they wouldn't want him to get this far and then be rejected. That would be too much for anyone's ego. Even Thomas Jefferson's, if in fact he had an ego at all. But thankfully for him, after a brief period of anticipation, the door did open and there stood the comely figure of Martha Wayles.

"She's pretty enough," Adams thought to himself. "But a pale, puny thing beside a New England girl." Both John Adams and Abigail Smith were from Massachusetts. That is what sparked their friendship from the beginning. Jefferson awkwardly offered his arm to her as they made their way to the car and she accepted it with what _must_ have been "put on" enthusiasm. He opened the passenger side door for her and she slipped in daintily, not noticing the two guests in the back seat.

"Well," she mumbled, her voice rather crackly. "It's... lovely weather we're having isn't it?"

Jefferson opened his lips, for once having something to say, but the never-ending mouthpiece in the backseat beat him to it.

"I'll say it is. Try enduring a few brutal winters in Massachusetts and the weather here _always_ seems pleasant," Adams explained pompously. Martha turned rapidly around, startled by the rather piercing voice of John Adams.

"Oh... I did not know that we had company," she muttered, looking down at her hands disappointedly.

"Well, you see, Martha," Jefferson attempted to explain. "They... heard that we were going to Washington's and..."

"What can we say?" Ben jumped in. "We just love that PIZZA PIE!!" Martha smiled at him timidly. Though polite, her facial expression made it rather clear that she would have much rather gone out with Jefferson without his companions.

"Don't worry," Ben assured her. "You won't even know we're here." She tried to conceal her blush and turned towards the window. They traveled to the pizza shack in what seemed to be the longest fifteen minutes of their lives. Nothing was said. All that could be heard was the rather annoying tapping Adams made against the window with his fingernail and the faint chattering of Thomas Jefferson's teeth. But they did eventually make it to that dumpy little pizza place, much to everyone's relief. Jefferson escorted Martha to the door, so overwhelmed by her beauty that he had almost forgotten about his two little 'friends' following behind... almost.

"A table for four," Jefferson instructed the headwaiter, Josiah Bartlett. Bartlett led the four of them to a tidy little booth in the back corner of a room and handed them their menus. Martha nervously sat close to Jefferson, who began to sweat like a pig. Adams and Ben, who were on the other side of the table, watched Jefferson fidget with amusement.

"Tell us about yourself," Ben prompted. "We have heard precious little."

"Well... I'm in tenth grade."

"Are you taking part in any after school activities?" Adams inquired.

"Ummm... Not yet. But I'm thinking of joining the drama club."

"Hmph," Adams grunted, disapproving. "Perhaps you and Edward Rutledge will be the leading couple."

"I hope not!" Martha exclaimed, for the first time speaking above a crackly whisper. "I... am not fond of Edward."

"Of course you are!" a voice came from behind them. They all turned to see who it was, though the southern drawl had given it away instantly. Edward Rutledge strutted towards them confidently. "Oh how sweet! Four of my dear friends off on a double date!" Adams and Ben instantly pushed away from each other.

"This is NOT a double date, Rutledge!" Adams snapped. Ben and I are merely accompanying these two on their date."

"Whatever," Rutledge huffed. "Like that makes it less creepy!"

"Are you all alone, Edward?" Martha asked.

"Oh no! But I thank you for askin', Martha."

"Whose your date?"

"I think the better question is who _isn't_ my date?" The group looked over to the other side of the shack where a group of nine or ten girls were sitting, staring anxiously at Rutledge.

"I'll be there in a jiff, ladies!" he called out. They all smiled at him flirtatiously. Two of them stood and walked towards him. "Oh, would you look at that!" Rutledge declared, taking a girl on each arm. "They couldn't wait an extra second for me. I don't know if y'all have met. These are my two favorite girls, Henrietta and Mary. Girls, these fine people are John Adams, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and Miss Martha Wayles. I'm sure you have met her already."

"Charmed!" Henrietta and Mary drawled in unison. They were both obviously from the south.

"Nice to meet you," Martha whispered.

"I better be goin'. The other girls are bound to get jealous," Rutledge laughed. He led the two girls back to his group, leaving the other four in peace.

"So..." Jefferson commenced, turning to Martha as he pulled something out of his jacket.

"Yes?"

"Ummm... Just a minute. Let me get my note cards."

"Oh good god," Adams grumbled under his breath. After a brief period of fumbling, Jefferson located the cards and flipped through them nervously.

"How..." he read, flipping the card from side to side. "Oh here we go: 'How are you feeling this...'" flipping the card. " 'evening?' " Martha grinned at him, pitying him for being so nervous.

"I'm fine."

"And, uh..." Next card. " 'How is your family doing?' "

"My family is well."

" 'Do you have any pets?' "

"Ummm... I have a parrot."

"What's the name of your parrot?" Ben asked, smiling as if he knew something deliciously wicked.

"You know the name of my parrot, Ben." She gently kicked him under the table.

"I don't think that John and Thomas know. Why don't you tell us?" At this point, Ben was smiling devilishly. Martha looked down and began to tug at her sleeve. Finally she looked up, her face the shade of a tomato.

"My parrot's name is... John Adams." Adams sat up straight, quite startled. For the first time, Jefferson burst out laughing.

"You named your parrot after me?" Adams asked, offended. "Why?"

"Well... When we first got him... None of us could sleep because he wouldn't stop squawking at us. He just wouldn't shut up. My dad wanted to name him The Agitator, but it just so happens that the day we got the parrot was the same day that you had gotten into that big fight with the art teacher over whether your eyes were ocean blue or ice blue. So... there it is." Adams said nothing, but sat back, hurt. Ben was croaking with laughter into his napkin. Martha's lips were quivering. She wanted to laugh with the rest of them, but was far too intimidated by Adams to allow herself to.

"Excuse me," Jefferson said, as he stood. "I'm going to see what happened to our waiter." But just as he stood, the clumsy giant knocked a waitress off her balance. Her tray of pizza went flying and plummeted down into poor Jefferson's bright red hair. He looked around himself, frightened. The waitress made her apologies to the boy and made a half-hearted attempt to help him wipe some of it up with a paper napkin, but when she realized that it was not helping, she made one last apology and quickly slipped away. Everyone was silent except for Adams, who was happy that for once he was not the source of amusement. "Ummm... I'm just gonna go to the restroom and try to clean up a bit," Jefferson growled. He sprung across the room as quickly as he could. Adams glanced over at Rutledge who was now swarming with young ladies. He had seen the whole incident as well. Rather than pitying the boy, Rutledge summoned the waitress who had committed this awful deed and handed her a fifty-dollar bill, thanking her for this entertaining scenario. Adams scoffed and returned his attention to the group. Ben had already begun flirting with Martha now that her beau was no longer there.

"How did he win you?"

"Well, Tom is a boy of many accomplishments. He has all A's in school, he's captain of the chess team, and he even helped the calculus team win their last victory. But there's something else... that I hesitate to mention."

"Don't hesitate," Adams prompted, wondering if whatever 'Tom' was doing could help get him out of his scrape with Abigail.

"He plays the clarinet." The two waited for her to continue, but she did not.

"Ok..." Ben mumbled. "So... You had pity on the band geek?"

"No! Of course not! It's just... he wrote me a song. He always comes to the pep rallies and watches us cheer. He doesn't like football, but he always wants to be there to support us. And last time...when I was all alone after cheering... he nervously came up to me with his clarinet... I waited for him to speak, but he didn't. Instead he just started playing. He played for a good five minutes. I didn't try to interrupt him. I just listened to that beautiful song. Finally, when he was done, he put the clarinet back in its case and turned as though he was about to leave. But before he did, he looked back at me and said, 'I wrote it for you.' I was just TOTALLY undone! Before he opened the door, I ran up to him and..."

"What? What did you do?" Adams asked, far too interested in Thomas Jefferson's romantic encounter.

"I gave him a kiss on the cheek and asked him if he would be free to go out some evening."

"And was he?" Adams asked again.

"Well obviously he was! Look where we are, genius!" This was Ben speaking. Martha giggled nervously.

"Right, well... Maybe I should go see if he's all right." At this, Adams stood, making sure that there was no waitress behind him this time, and made his way to the men's room. Inside, Jefferson was matting together a lump of moist paper towels and rubbing it through his hair. Adams quietly went up to the mirror and began slicking back his own hair, not knowing exactly what his motive was of coming into the bathroom.

"I've ruined it," Jefferson moaned at last.

"What? No you haven't!"

"Yes I have! Why would she want to be with someone who smells like they took a bath in diet coke and cheese wiz?"

"Well... At least the tomato sauce sort of blends in with your hair color."

"Thanks, but that's not making me feel better."

"Look," Adams said, turning to the depressed young man. "She really likes you. Really! She told us when you went away."

"Oh right! She just happened to say something right as I left the table."

"She did! I can prove it! She told us... She told us about the song you wrote for her on the clarinet." At this, Jefferson jumped with embarrassment. "Don't be ashamed, Thomas. We all do kind of queer things when we are trying to get a girl to notice us." At this, Adams began thinking about the carnival incident again, but quickly pushed it out of his mind. "Anyway, the important thing is she liked it! You charmed her! _You_, of all people, charmed the cute cheerleader. You should be proud of yourself. If you don't blow this, you may become the role model for all band geeks/ chess club captains around the world." Jefferson peered down at his reflection in the sink and threw his wad of wet paper in the trashcan.

"You're right! I _should _be proud! But... What do I do now?"

"Go out there and be yourself!" Jefferson glanced at him apprehensively. "Well..." Adams turned away. "Generally, I would tell you to be anyone _but _yourself, but she seems to like you so... Go at it! Oh, but first make sure to remove the flakes of toilet paper stuck in your hair."

"Ok!" At this, Jefferson leaped out of the bathroom as quickly as those lanky legs could carry him. Adams slowly made his way to the table, not wanting to disrupt whatever might come out of his little pep talk. As he made his way to the table, he saw Jefferson and Martha whispering and laughing as if nothing had happened at all. Before he could sit, Ben took him by the arm and dragged him to the side.

"What is it?"

"Let's go."

"Why?" Adams asked. "I haven't gotten my pizza yet."

"We have better things to do. Besides, whatever you said in there worked. Now I haven't got a chance with her. Let's go back to the arcade and play air hockey."

"All right," Adams said reluctantly, still mourning over the loss of his pizza. "Actually... No. I have something more important to do tonight."

"Thanks a lot!" Adams didn't notice Ben's sarcasm. He silently made his way out of the pizza shack, giving Rutledge and his ladies a brief nod on the way out.


	9. Chapter 9

9

John Adams slowly walked up the porch steps and rang the doorbell. He waited for a brief moment, before the door was answered by a Mrs. Elizabeth Smith.

"Hi, Mrs. Smith. Is Abigail home?"

"Yeah. She's up in her room. Come on in." Adams sprightly ran up the stairs and went directly to the first room at the top of the steps. He knocked quietly, feeling his pulse beating in his throat.

"Come in!" A voice strained. Adams opened the door to find Abigail stretched upside down across a chair, reading a history textbook. As soon as she saw him, she put her book down and struggled out of her chair by way of a summersault. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to stop by... See how you're doing."

"I'm _peachy_. How about you?" Abigail was always the first to use sarcasm when she was in a bad mood. He decided to ignore this question.

"I don't know how you can read in here. All you have is a lava lamp?"

"No. I also have the fish tank." Adams smiled and peered into the crowded fish tank.

"You have four now."

"Yes."

"Which one is which?"

"Well, the big orange fish is Quincy," she said, pointing. "The angel fish is little Nabby. Charles is the little bottom feeder... and that one is little Tom. It's so weird. He keeps turning blue!"

"Hmmm," Adams murmured, eying the sickly little fish. "That's kind of weird. Hey, remember when I gave you Quincy?"

"Yeah..." Abigail said, turning away.

"That was the only thing I was able to win you that day at the fair. Probably because it was a trivia game, rather than something that required physical abilities. That's odd. I thought Quincy was a gold fish."

"What?" Abigail shrieked, desperately trying to pull John away from the fish tank. "No! You're mistaken. It's not a gold fish. It's... _that_ kind of fish."

"No! I remember! The guy at the carnival told me it was a gold fish!"

"Oh, well... You're right it is a gold fish."

"But you just said-" Before he could finish, she leaped up and gave him a big juicy kiss.

"Stop!" he exclaimed, pushing her off of him. "Don't try to distract me with your... girliness! That's not the same fish I gave you, is it?" Abigail said nothing, but returned to her seat and picked up the history book.

"King Henry VIII broke off from the catholic church and created the church of England in-"

"And don't try to get me started with history either! Just tell me the truth! What happened to Quincy?" She stared up at him, her eyes glazed over.

"He... may have... died."

"What?! How did this happen?!"

"I don't know! I guess I just forgot to feed him!"

"But if you had forgotten to feed him, wouldn't they all be dead?" She looked down guiltily. "Abigail, what did you do to my fish?!"

"Fine! You asked for it! One day, I decided that I was sick of having to clean the fish tank by hand so I got one of those tank cleaners. The problem was... I didn't realize that Quincy was so much smaller than the average sized gold fish and... the next day... I found him- or rather his remains... sort of trapped, or rather, sort of caught up in the sharp spinney thing inside the filter."

"Really? And how long were you planning on waiting before telling me this?"

"Honestly, I _wasn't_ planning on telling you this."

"So you just replaced our fish with... THAT! What do you call him when I'm not around? Quincy the second?"

"Actually, it's Quincy the fifth."

"_What_?!"

"I'm really bad with gold fish, ok?! I either drop them or put their bowl on the windowsill and let the sun boil them, or let my cat get too close to them. I thought maybe trying another type of fish would be the right way to go. I mean, look how long the others have lasted!"

"Oh yeah. Tom the ice cube is looking _really _healthy!"

"Ok, John. You're right. I am cruel to fish. I admit it. Are you happy?"

"Not happy... fish killer!" At this, Abigail felt compelled to smile, although she was still rather annoyed with him.

"Did you actually have a reason for stopping by?"

"Well... I thought that I should see you on our anniversary."

"Ha! Little do you care about our anniversary! I swear, all you ever think about it that stupid paper!"

"It's not stupid! Writing is the best thing in the world! Without writing, how would we know anything about history?"

"Fine. Writing isn't stupid. You are!"

"What? Why is that?"

"You spend all your time there without giving any thought to me. Believe it or not, John Adams, I could be a lot more needy. All I want is a little attention. I feel like I'm dating a newspaper! And what good is that club anyway? It won't let you print any of your articles. And last year, John Hancock promised that it would buy the embroidery club a whole new set of pins. Tell me, John: WHERE ARE THE PINS?!"

"Ah! You forget, madam, that in exchange for these pins, we were supposed to receive a nice supply of saltpeter from your little chemistry club!"

"We will not make saltpeter until you send us pins! Actually, we probably won't anyway."

"Why not?!"

"You want it to make gun powder."

"And?"

"If I give you gunpowder, you will blow yourself up. I really don't want the guilt! Now, if I were making the saltpeter for someone who actually knew what they were doing with it, say John Dickinson-" Abigail knew exactly what buttons to push. Adams rapidly turned towards her.

"Oh, yes! I'm sure you really wish I were like him! That way you could say that you had a _smart_ boyfriend! Not just this idiot who spend his entire high school career trying to improve the school, rather than himself. How sad you must be!"

"John, I didn't mean anything by it. It's just-" But she had no time to finish. He stormed out of her room, slamming the door behind him. He skipped down the stairs and showed himself out of the house.


	10. Chapter 10

10

The next day was Wednesday. It felt like a Wednesday to John Adams. He was already sick of the week, yet he couldn't say that it was almost over. But at least he had the paper to think about. And that is exactly what was occupying his thoughts as he made his way to school on his rusty old scooter. "Three days. Only three days."  
This day passed in the same fashion as the previous day had. He went to algebra and failed a pop quiz. This was no surprise to him though. After his blow up with Abigail the night before, he doubted that he still had a math tutor. As soon as he entered the cafeteria at lunchtime, he ran over to Ben, who was munching on a bag of corn chips.

"We must get to work as quickly as possible! We only have three days to convince the other half of the paper that we need to print Richard's article. Who do we have so far?"

"Well, there's Caesar Rodney, Stephen Hopkins, Thomas Jefferson, you, and me."

"What about that new kid?"

"Who? Lyman Hall? I doubt it. I think Edward Rutledge has taken him under his wing. Actually, if you ask me, I think he _forced _him under his wing."

"Ok... Wait. Isn't there another guy whose joining the paper?"

"Oh yeah. That really friendly kid, uh... John Witherspoon! That's it!"

"Oh good god!" Adams moaned. "Another John?!"

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Anyway, what's he like?"

"I don't know. But that's him over there." Adams looked to see an average sized boy tugging at a piece of fried chicken with his teeth.

"Well, let's go get him before Dickinson and Rutledge do!" At this, Adams confidently trotted towards John Witherspoon, Ben struggling to keep up, being that he was in a cast.

"Hi there. I'm John Adams." At this, Adams held out his hand to Witherspoon, who stared up startled.

"Ummm... Hi! It's nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but mine are kind of greasy from the chicken."

"Oh," Adams murmured, pulling back his hand. "I hear you are going to join the paper."

"Um, yeah. I am. I was planning on checking it out today, actually."

"What kind of writing do you...write?"

"Honestly, I have to say that my favorite writer in the newspaper is-"

"Oh let me guess. You like John Dickinson's work."

"Ummm... No. Well, I don't mind it. It's all right if... well, if you want to go to sleep!" He chuckled at his own joke. "Forgive me. That was unkind. What I was going to say is... I really like _your _work." Adams looked up surprised.

"Me? Really?"

"Yes. You write what you think and aren't afraid of the consequences. I admire that."

"Well what would you say if I were to tell you that right now, the paper is trying to decide whether or not to add an article that could get us all into trouble, but in the process, could change this entire school as we know it?" Witherspoon took another bite of chicken intensely.

"Did you write this article?"

"No. Actually, the section is comprised of two articles, both of which are by freshmen at this school."

"But you support everything they have to say?"

"I will defend every word of it."

"Well... then I guess I would too." Adams beamed with joy. He smiled at Ben, who was still watching Witherspoon, not quite sure if he could take him seriously or not.

"Really? Are you saying that if we vote on whether or not to print this article, you would side with us?"

"Yes. I will. Definitely."

"Thank you very much. You have taken a great pressure off my mind!" Adams exclaimed. He arrogantly sauntered past Dickinson's table. Dickinson had no idea of what just happened, but he knew that he could not trust it.

"Good job, John," Ben commended as he and Adams returned to their table. "That's one down."

"And how many to go?"

"Well, technically it doesn't really have to be unanimous. But you did say that you could get every person in the room to side with you."

"Ok, so how many is that?"

"There's Lyman Hall, George Read, Samuel Chase, Joseph Hewes, Edward Rutledge, James Wilson, and last but definitely not least, John Dickinson." Adams sighed, starting to feel overwhelmed again.

"Ok. I guess I'll start with Samuel Chase."

"And who do you want me to take care of?"

"Well... try Joseph Hewes and James Wilson. They're both minions. Just get them away from Rutledge and Dickinson!"

"Ok. What about the other four?"

"We'll worry about them tomorrow. Just focus on James Wilson and Joseph Hewes!" Ben grunted and returned to his corn chips. Adams reluctantly stepped forward, searching the room for Samuel Chase. And there he was, sitting at a table with three trays of bacon and coleslaw in front of him. "Lord, look at him stuff himself!" Adams groaned. But times were tough. And he needed Samuel Chase's vote.


	11. Chapter 11

11

James Wilson stared up at the aggressive senior standing in an intimidating fashion above him.

"I won't vote with you, Ben! I won't! You can't make me!"

"Why not?"

"I don't want to get into trouble!"

"No, you don't want _John Dickinson _to get into trouble, you effeminate twit!" Wilson's lip began to quiver and his eyes filled with bid salty tears. "Now... Take it easy, James. Don't cry. I was a little harsh." But before he had time to apologize, Wilson was running out of the room sobbing.

"Great job," Adams grumbled. "I hope you had better luck with Joseph Hewes."

"Not really. He said he would vote with us only if Edward Rutledge votes with us. And I also talked with George Read. His exact words were 'No! No! No! For the last time, NO!' I don't know what we can do, John."

"Maybe I can help," a voice said from behind. Both boys turned to see Senor McKean. "I like your articles, Juan Adams. I think you're talented. I hope you don't mind that I've been eavesdropping. But I'm pretty sure I can help you get a vote from George Read."

"Really?" Adams gleamed, hopefully. "How?"

"This oughtta do it." He reached under his desk and pulled out a large rifle. Both boys stared at it, paralyzed with fear. The whole school was aware that Senor McKean was into hunting and guns. But they never thought he would go so far as to bring a rifle to school.

"Ummm... Senor McKean... Isn't that against the law?"

"Ha! I'm not going to shoot him. I just thought that it might scare him into voting with you!"

"Not that. I mean... Isn't it against the law to have a gun in school?"

"Oh that... If you won't tell I won't tell. And if you do!" He pointed the gun at Adams' pale, trembling face. "I'm just joking. But don't you boys worry about George Read. The little jerk annoys me anyway."

"Thank you," Adams said, smiling through his teeth. He stiffly walked away, followed by Ben.

"'Thank you?' That's what you say when a teacher offers to threaten a kid with a gun?!" Ben whispered violently.

"That's how desperate I am, Ben! Anyway... Now that _that _rather traumatizing experience is done with... We still have Rutledge, Hewes, Hall, Dickinson, and Wilson. Let's both try to persuade Rutledge. If we get him, we'll have Hall and Hewes in the bag as well."

"I take it you convinced Samuel Chase?"

"Well... Not really. We have his vote though. I promised him a year's supply of marshmallow peeps if he voted with us."

"Good thinking. But peeps are expensive. Why didn't you try something cheaper like store brand spaghetti-os or something?"

"My original offer was to pay him off with circus peanuts, but he didn't bite. I guess even _he _has his standards."

"Ok. Well, we better go down to the theater. Rutledge is probably at rehearsals."

"Great. I get to see Rutledge is a sequined leotard. That's just what I need right now." Ben looked at him inquisitively. "Not really! Why does everyone think that I have some weird man crush on him?"

"Because, as he tells us every day, HE'S BEAUTIFUL!" Adams frowned and walked towards the door. Mission: Man in tights.


	12. Chapter 12

12

"Stretch! Stretch! Stretch!" Edward Rutledge grunted as he extended his arms into the air.  
Slowly, John Adams and Ben Franklin plodded through the theater until finally they reached the stage where Rutledge was warming up.

"Excuse me." Adams cleared his throat. For the first time in the past twenty-four hours, he was feeling nervous. "May we have a word with you?" Rutledge swiveled rapidly, startled.

"Oh… Well, how d'ya do? Forgive me. I didn't hear ya'll." He stopped stretching and opened a bottle of Gatorade. He took a swig, but it appeared to Adams that more landed on his face than in his mouth. "What can I do for you, John Adams?" He picked up a towel and wiped up the liter of sweat that had formed on his forehead.

"Ummm… We were hoping that we could discuss the current issue regarding the paper with you."

"Oh. So you want to 'win me over.' Is that it?"

"I guess you might say that."

"Uh huh." He sat on the edge of the stage. "I guess what I would like to know is… If I were to go along with the two of you, what exactly would I be agreein' to?"

"Well… It just so happens that Thomas Jefferson is writing up a petition at the moment that describes exactly what is bothering us and why we are trying to make radical changes."

"Ok… So what do you want from me as of now?"

"We just want some kind of guarantee that you will… at least _consider_ siding with us against John Dickinson."

"Well, I don't know if I can do that. After all, I have no cause at the present time to sever my ties with the school board. If everyone else wants this, I will not stand in the way. But until then, I will wait and watch."

"Fair enough. But can you at least assure us that you won't try to dissuade the others to side with us."

"For example?"

"Joseph Hewes and Lyman Hall." Rutledge's gaze slowly crept down to the floor as he began to absent-mindedly swing his feet.

"Well, John Adams, I'll tell you this… If Lyman Hall and Joseph Hewes believe in what I believe in, I will NOT do anything to change their minds just to make you happy. But if they side with you on their own, I'm not goin' to do or say anything to stop them."

"Ok…" Adams muttered disappointedly. "Be honest, Rutledge. Do I have a chance with you?" At this, Rutledge covered his mouth with his hand and began to laugh. Adams stood back indignantly. "What, may I ask, is so funny?"

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Adams, but no! You don't have a chance with me, no matter how much you may want me. I'M TAKEN!!" Adams scoffed in disgust and stormed out of the building, followed by Ben. It wasn't until he exited the building that the sound of Rutledge's chuckle stopped ringing in his ears.


	13. Chapter 13

13

"All right," Hancock grumbled. "I call this meaning to order. Charles, who's absent?"

"Well, John Adams, Ben Franklin, and Thomas Jefferson let me know that they were going to work on their petition rather than coming today. Caesar Rodney claims that he has the flu. Richard Lee is off on his vacation. And George Read was held after class in Senor McKean's. He will be here shortly."

"Hmmm," Hancock murmured under his breath. "I guess you might say that Stephen Hopkins isn't here either… mentally anyway." The group looked over to Hopkins, who was passed out with a bottle of vodka flimsily sitting on his lap. "Where's Samuel Chase?"

"Eating contest."

"Again? Hmmm. Well, I suppose I should welcome the newest member of the club, John Witherspoon."

"ANOTHER JOHN?!" the group cried out in protest. They briefly acknowledged the poor boy, who was sitting by himself timidly.

"Good day to you," Dickinson said to the new kid with almost too much warmth and hospitality.

"Uh… Hi."

"Tell me: What kind of articles are you planning on writing?" Dickinson inquired.

"I believe that we should tell the students what we think… And we shouldn't be afraid of the consequences." Dickinson glared at him for a moment and rapidly huffed towards Hancock.

"I didn't realize you had let in another John _Adams_! That's the kind of John we _don't_ need."

"What do you have to be worried about? The vote is in two days. John Adams is trying his best to get _everyone_ to side with him. If it's not unanimous, he'll drop the issue. He said so himself. I would think that would please you, since it's obvious that _you _won't back down."

Dickinson gave one of his evil little grins and turned to the rest of the room. "I believe Hancock is trying to tell me that I will be the sole reason for John Adams' failure. Is this true? Are any of you planning on voting with John Adams in two days?"

"I am," a voice said from the back. It was Stephen Hopkins.

"All right," Dickinson continued, checking himself. "Anyone… Who hasn't polluted their brain with toxins for the past seventeen years?" A moment past in which no one raised their hands. But eventually, John Witherspoon bravely raised from his chair.

"I will vote with John Adams."

"Yes, I thought as much. Anyone else?" No one responded. Lyman Hall quietly looked over at John Witherspoon with admiration. "How about you, Lyman Hall? What do you think of this whole ordeal?"

"Well… To be honest… I'm split right down the middle on this issue. Most of you are against John Adams' articles and I'm for them… But I'm not sure if being an active member of this paper means relying on your judgment or my own. And until I figure that out, I better lean a little on your side." Dickinson grinned again, though not entirely sure if he was content with this response.

"That's very smart of you. You see… We are not cowards simply because we dislike change. We simply adore the situation we find ourselves in and wouldn't want it to be disrupted… by _anyone_." At this, he glanced at John Witherspoon.

"Yes. This game's not of our choosing. Why should we risk losing?" Edward Rutledge asked, making his presence known for the first time. Everyone looked over at him surprised. "Whoa… I just rhymed, didn't I? Ha-ha! It must be because of all the singin' I'm doin' for the play. SWEET TRANSVE-"

"Ok, Edward. Enough singing for today," Hancock warned.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Dickinson continued. "We are proud, accomplished boys… No… men. We feel no need to rush into things until it is the appropriate time. What I can't understand is why _you _wouldn't want to join us, Hancock." Hancock did not reply. "Oh, I know you would never admit it, since you are the president of this paper… But you're on Adams' side… Aren't you? I just don't understand it. You don't even like him!"

"It's true. He annoys me quite a lot. But I would still rather see him win than you."

"Why? Personal glory? A place in this school's history? Be careful. This school as well as all the colleges you try to get into will think of you as a deviant."

"I believe that people should do what they believe is right… Even if it threatens their personal well-being."

"Uh huh. Well don't forget that most students with F's would rather protect the possibility of becoming smart… than face the reality of being stupid. And that is why they will follow us. Because WE ARE COOL!"

"Well, first of all, you really aren't that cool. You're all kind of dorks. But if you really believe in what you are doing, and are not just doing it to protect yourselves, I guess I can't go _against _you. So be honest, Dickinson… Do you really _love_ this school? Or are you just protecting yourself?"

Dickinson did not feel obligated to reply. Instead, he began to pack his notebooks into his leather bag. Finally, he looked up at Hancock. "What do you think?" He opened the door and went out in a tiff. Within a moment, the others in the room followed his example, leaving the room desolate with the exception of Mr. McNair, who continued to sweep, grunting and complaining the entire time.


	14. Chapter 14

14

Three days and four nights. That's all the time Adams had been allotted to make magic. A day and two nights had passed and Adams felt he was sinking. The first night was a total waste all thanks to Ben forcing him to go on Jefferson's date. The day after that, he had accomplished a respectable amount of tasks. And he had spent that whole night on the phone with James Wilson, hoping that talking to him without Dickinson around might make it easier to persuade him. But it didn't. Through the course of the evening, Wilson hung up on him five times, burst into tears seven times, and threatened to never do _anything _Adams said four times, the last of which worried Adams the most. But fortunately for the pitiable little protagonist, the next day brought slightly more pleasant results.

"John!" Ben shouted. Adams jumped up and looked around, frightened by the booming sound of Ben's voice.

"Whoa… Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah. Into your kidney pie." Adams looked down at the slab of organ sitting on his plate that now was indented with the shape of his face. He picked up a paper napkin and cleaned himself up.

"Sorry. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"What? On the phone with Abby?"

"No. James Wilson." Ben stared at him, desperately hoping that Adams would elaborate.

"Ok… That's a little questionable. Are you trying to steal Dickinson's minion?"

"No! It wouldn't be worth it. I just wish that there could be a way to persuade him to do something without the permission of his god."

"Don't give up now, John. Just stay focused."

"I'm trying, Ben! But look how little time we have left!"

"Well, Thomas Jefferson finished the petition last night. He's going to have it read today after school."

"That's good. But we still have six people to win over! All that work yesterday and only one of them decided to vote with us." Just as Adams said this, the weak figure of George Read slowly crept up behind them.

"John Adams," he squeaked. Adams looked at him. "Yesterday… I had a little chat with Senor McKean… He brought it to my attention that perhaps I was wrong to side against you." He swallowed and dabbed his forehead with a napkin.

"Are you ok, George?" Ben asked. "You look ill."

"I'm fine. Just a little traumatized."

"From what?"

"Well… I'd rather not get into it. Anyway, I just thought you should know that you have my vote. Please leave me alone now. And make sure Senor McKean leaves me alone too… _Please_!"

George Read slugged away and Adams and Ben gave each other guilty glances.

"What's done is done," Adams muttered, taking a sip of iced coffee.


	15. Chapter 15

15

The newspaper room grew chillingly quiet. Without a sound, Thomas Jefferson slid a packet of lined paper to Charles Thomson, who lifted it to his eyes and began reading aloud. Every writer sat on the edge of his seat anxiously.

"When in the course of high school events, it becomes necessary for one newspaper staff to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with the school board, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station..."

Thomas Jefferson quietly slipped out of the room and waited in the hallway, unable to sit there, knowing full well how certain students were glaring at him. He was never very good at defending himself. He was hoping that in the worst-case scenario John Adams would be there to run his big mouth for him. But John Adams was not there yet. Neither was Ben and Thomas was beginning to feel rather irritable! But as though they had been able to read his thoughts, John Adams stormed down the hallway followed by the waddling Ben Franklin.

"Well, how far have they gotten?" Adams asked hurriedly.

" 'He has called together student bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the actual school for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures," Jefferson recited, rubbing his face. Adams quietly opened the door so he could hear Thomson.

"He has called together student bodies at places ..." Adams closed the door approvingly. He leaned up against the wall next to the dismayed Jefferson.

"Nothing to fear. It is a masterpiece. I am to be congratulated!" Jefferson and Ben stared at Adams puzzled.

"You?"

"Yes! For making him write it!" Adams explained indignantly. "So... Maybe if we actually get somewhere with Jefferson's petition, we will have a say in school decisions. What changes need to be made first?" Jefferson and Ben looked at each other inquisitively.

"Well..." Ben pondered. "I don't really think that I should have much of a say, since I'll be gone next year, but personally, I hate our school mascot." Jefferson looked up quickly.

"Really? So do I!"  
Adams scrunched his face. "Come now... Don't you want to make changes that will actually make a difference? Who cares about a school mascot?"

"John... Our mascot is the Potent Pony... It sounds like a one hit wonder chick band from the '80s! You can't say that's not important."

"Ok fine... What do you think we should suggest for a new mascot?" The three young men sat down in unison and began to think long and hard. "The eagle," Adams pronounced.

Jefferson glanced at him apprehensively. "The dove."

Ben glared at both of them. "The turkey!"

"The eagle."

"The dove-"

"THE EAGLE!!" Adams whined. Jefferson looked down at his fingers and reluctantly gave in.

"The eagle," he muttered half way mockingly.

"The turkey!" Ben insisted.

"Who would want a turkey as a school mascot, Ben? They're positively the ugliest birds alive. And doves are a symbol of peace. If we get our way with this petition, I doubt the school board will really be thinking of us as 'peaceful'. The eagle, however, is a majestic bird!" Adams persisted.

"Who cares about eagles?! What are they good for anyway? The best part about a turkey is you get to shoot them, chop off their heads and eat them and people won't care one bit!"

"And you really think _that_ is a good reason as to why our school mascot should be a..._ turkey_?!" Adams growled.  
Ben ignored him. "The school mascot of Philadelphia High will be-"

"The eagle!" Ben scowled at Adams but just as he was about to continue this rather ridiculous argument, Mr. McNair opened the door and informed them that the petition had been read. At that, the three boys lifted themselves and entered into the newspaper room, not quite sure what kind of reactions they would be witnessing in the moments to come.


	16. Chapter 16

16

"So, are there any changes that need to be made?" Hancock asked. But before he could call on anyone, a large sea of hands and the thunder of two-dozen voices accosted him all at once. And he called on the students, one by one, and each person made his complaint (all of which, in Adams' opinion, were completely unimportant). From there, Jefferson decided if the change could be made to his paper. The truth is, Jefferson was far too afraid to deny any of the changes that were suggested to him. Adams could sense this and was beginning to feel rather annoyed.

"Excuse me, Tom," Samuel Chase began. "No where did you mention lunchtime rights." Adams leaped out of his seat. He had had enough of this trivial questioning.

"Oh GOOD GOD! Lunchtime rights?! Hancock, how long is this piddling to go on?" At this, he brushed passed the group and shut himself in the janitor's closet (much to McNair's disapproval). After a minute, Ben followed him in.

"John, come out of here."

"Have you heard what they're doing to it? Have you heard?!"

"Yes, John. I've heard."

"And you'd think just once Jefferson would stand up for himself. Someone ought to tell that kid to grow a spine!"

"John... Aren't you forgetting something? These people that are making stupid little suggestions now are our friends."

"Yes. Imagine what our enemies will do! And it's not like Jefferson will put a stop to it." At this, Adams cracked the door slightly and looked out at John Dickinson, who was silently writing something on an index card. Adams did not trust it. To him, that index card equaled failure and destruction. "Hmmm... Dickinson has been rather quiet this afternoon."

"Yeah, him _and _Rutledge. It can't be good. Just wait for it. I guarantee they will have something to say. But for now, come on out and keep your cool." Adams gave half of a grin and quietly returned to his seat in the main room, followed by Ben. The mediocre requests continued to flow for the next hour and Jefferson continued to approve them, one after another. But finally, just as Adams and Ben had predicted, someone of slightly more importance raised his hand and calmly waited for Hancock to call on him.

Hancock's first reaction was to grimace but after a second of collecting himself, he returned his attention to the patient student in the front row. "John Dickinson, you have something to say?"

"Yes I do." And putting forth all the arrogance and condescension he could muster, he rose from his chair and slowly crossed to Jefferson, who tried his best to feign a confident expression. "Thomas Jefferson..." Dickinson commenced, passing his index card from hand to hand. "I have very little interest in that paper of yours. However, I strongly doubt that any of us have heard the last of it. But there is one thing that you must explain to me... Why did you refer to Mr. George as a tyrant?"

"Well..." Jefferson cleared his throat, feeling the blood rushing from his face. "Because he is a tyrant."

"How so?" Dickinson interrogated, trying not to appear flustered.

"He cares nothing for his schools, nor any of the students in them. Furthermore, he has abused all of us, creating ridiculous rules that hardly any of us would or _should_ comply with and when we do not, he administers cruel punishments from which no student under any circumstance should suffer . He's stripping away all of our rights, little by little. Eventually, we won't have any left at all."

"Rights given from him in the first place?"  
"All but one. Freedom of speech comes not only from God but from our very own Constitution."  
"If there was ever a tyrant, he would be it," Adams added. Dickinson gave him a cold glance and returned to Jefferson, who was starting to feel nauseous.

"Nevertheless, I demand that this part be removed from the petition."

"All right..." Charles Thomson declared, lifting his pen. "This portion of the petition is now removed."

"Just a minute, Thomson!" Jefferson called out, leaping up. "I do _not _consent!"

"Oh!" Thomson scrambled about, not exactly sure what to do. "Well... I already sharpied it out!"

"Well, sharpie it back in!"

"Add it in, Charles," Hancock decided. "Mr. George will remain a tyrant." Dickinson snared at Jefferson and returned to his seat in a fury. After the awkward moment had passed, Adams quietly seated himself behind Jefferson.

"Well done, Thomas! I didn't think you had it in you!" Jefferson grinned proudly.

"Yeah... I figured it's not like he's going to approve the document anyway, so I might as well keep a little of my pride."

"If there are no more comments, I guess we should take the vote!" Hancock suggested.  
Adams sighed. At least that part was over. But before he knew it, another hand was raised. And this time, Adams truly had no idea what to expect. "Edward Rutledge... You have something to add?" Hancock asked, surprised.

"Yes I do. Mr. Thomson, would you be so kind as to reread a certain passage for me, one startin'... 'He has discriminated against...'"

Thomson flipped through the pages and started to read. "He has discriminated against a large amount of students, prohibiting them from joining certain after school programs without ever giving the students a chance to prove themselves capable in any particular field. Furthermore he has-"

"Thank you, Mr. Thomson. That will suffice," Rutledge politely interrupted. He sauntered towards Jefferson quietly. "Mr. Jefferson... I'm just a good ol' southern boy. I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what you're talkin' about."

Jefferson began to tear at his thumbnail nervously. "The Drama Club, Rutledge." Rutledge nodded his head in understanding.

"I see... So... You're sayin' that Mr. George has been cruel to a certain group of students by not allowin' them to join the Drama Club? Well, Mr. Jefferson, I think if you had paid a little more attention to the situation, you would have seen that what Mr. George did, in a way, was a blessin'. I mean, after all, some students just should not be allowed to be in plays. They don't have the talent. And what's so terrible about tellin' them so?"

"You are not just ruling out students who aren't talented, Rutledge. You have ruled out any student who belongs to the African American club, the Russian club, the Asian Club, and any other group that you may have deemed as 'unworthy'."

"That may be, Mr. Jefferson. But you aren't suggestin' that we are discriminatin' against certain people just because of their race, are ya?"

"What else can one assume?"

"Mr. Jefferson, what you must understand is-"

"I understand everything, _Mr. _Rutledge. You and Mr. George may have your personal prejudices, but it is in no way the least bit ethical to forbid them from being part of a club if they wish to be."

"I am not concerned with _ethics_, Jefferson. I'm concerned with what you have in that little paper there!"

"That 'little paper there' may be what changes this school for the better," Adams snapped. "Racial discrimination is wrong in any situation, Rutledge. And neither you nor Mr. George have the power to state that all people of a particular race or culture are not capable of performing in your 'spectacular' little shows." Rutledge whipped his head towards Adams, and started towards him.

"Oh really, Mr. Adams! That's very interestin'. Listen up, everyone. _John Adams_ is givin' me a lecture on discrimination! Yes, I declare, that _is_ very interestin' indeed. Perhaps you have forgotten, Mr. Adams, that not too long ago, a large group of theater students made their way to your little creative writin' club and asked if they could join up. What was your response, sir?" Adams thought hard, though this was not exactly an easy task, with Edward Rutledge staring down at him.

"I told them that I doubted they would enjoy the club."

"Yes, you did. But don't forget to mention that after you said this, they insisted that they would enjoy it, and from there, Mr. Jefferson began to explain that creative writin' required a certain level of intellect, which you both were _sure_ all drama students must be lackin' in. So as far as discrimination goes, _you_ _both _are practitioners, _are you not_?!" Adams glanced at Ben, who wished he could come up with an excuse for Adams, but could not.

"I have already resolved to allow the drama students into the writing club," Jefferson mumbled. Rutledge gave him a malicious grin.

"Is that so, Mr. Jefferson? Well, I'm sure glad of that. Especially since it just so happens that one of the students who came to you that day was our very own salutatorian!" The room grew uncomfortably tense. No one dared to even shift in their seats, fearing that Rutledge might turn his stone-melting glare onto them. "Our student brethren... feelin' a bit tender towards our ethnic clubs. They're not prejudice... Oh no... But they sure are willin' to discriminate against people for other reasons besides their race." At this he leaned down into Adams' face. "I don't care who you like and dislike, Mr. Adams... But don't chastise me for somethin' that you are guilty of yourself!" At this, Rutledge returned to his desk, gathered his belongings, and deserted the room, accompanied by the majority of the newspaper staff.

"Rutledge, please!" Adams cried out desperately. "Chase! Read!" But they were all leaving. After a moment, Lyman Hall raised himself and headed towards the door. "Hall..." Adams called out, hoping that perhaps this would be his one chance to persuade Lyman Hall to help him with his cause. Lyman Hall turned towards him, as though perhaps he considered staying, but all at once, fear got the better of him and he quickly caught up with Rutledge. The room grew quiet once more. But now was not the time for Adams to appear discouraged. He must act! "Well what are we all sitting around for? There's work to be done!"

"Face it, Adams. We're finished," John Witherspoon groaned, gathering his books.

"That's not true. Stephen Hopkins. I need you to go find Samuel Chase. Make sure that he is still-"

"If you need me, Johnny, I'll be at the bar." Hopkins stumbled out of the room accompanied by Witherspoon. Adams turned dismayed, wishing just once things would go his way! And out of all people, who was right there at his side in his moment of weakness, ready to give him one more kick in the stomach?

"Well, it appears that you have suffered a slight setback," Dickinson stated, a sinister smile creeping onto his lips. "But don't be too upset. You may have lost the approval of the _entire _school paper but at least you made it a point to defend the ethic clubs...Ummm... How _exactly _are they going to help you with your cause again? Oh right. They're not. Tough luck." At this Dickinson made a slight gesture to Wilson and they both left Adams in miserable tranquility.

"There's no other option, John. The discrimination clause has to go," Ben announced unhappily.

"What?" Adams gasped as though he had never heard anything quite so terrible in his life.

"It's a luxury we can't afford!"

"Oh really? Edward Rutledge and his friends are practically spitting in the faces of hundreds of capable students, and you, _Benjamin Franklin_, the big hotshot senior, calls it a luxury. Why don't you just walk out with the rest of them!"

"You forget yourself! It was my idea in the first place to add the discrimination clause!"

"Then why don't you stand up for your own ideas!"

"And what will come of that, John? Huh?! How dare you compromise our position when we have come so far! There's a time when we can stand up for ourselves and the people around us, but there's also times when we just have to let things go! You can't just push these kids around! Edward Rutledge has accomplished just as much as you have in his high school career. Even if you _don't_ approve of his methods of doing so, either learn how to live with him or pack up and go home!" Adams snapped his knuckles furiously, finding it hard to believe that for the first time Ben was actually yelling at him. With wounded pride, he gathered his notebooks and pencils into him Led Zeppelin backpack and left the room, slamming the door behind him. He had nowhere to go. His parents were not home and he had forgotten his key. So eventually, after contemplating on all of the possible locations he could venture towards, he decided to hide out in the gym. After all, no student would voluntarily go _there_.


	17. Chapter 17

17

"Good lord, what has happened to me? John Adams... the GREAT John Adams!!" Adams murmured aloud. "Maybe I'm _not_ that great... yet! I have time to change that if someone would just throw me a bone every once in a while!"

He rushed into the gym and threw his bag onto the bleachers. He paced back and forth for a few minutes, muttering things under his breath. But his thoughts were suddenly stifled by the sound of footsteps coming towards him.

"John, what are you doing here?" Adams turned rapidly.

"Abby! I might ask you the same question."

"The embroidery club usually meets in the cafeteria, but today we got stuck in the girl's locker room. Again... What are you doing here?"

"To be honest... I just needed to be alone." Abigail sighed and turned away.

"All right. I get it. You're still angry. I'll leave you alone." Adams looked up, puzzled. He had forgotten about their argument.

"No! Wait. Don't go. I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I just meant... I need to get away from people... that is, people who aren't you." Abigail weakly smiled and walked towards a cabinet. She opened it up, pulled out a basketball, and hurled it at him. He barely managed to catch it before it left a large mark on his forehead.

"What's wrong, John?" she asked.  
"Everything is just a mess. Things are getting worse and worse at this school. Pretty soon we probably won't even be allowed to have a school paper. Not that it matters. No one wants to change anything there anyway. And the cause, which I have labored for these past two years has come to nothing! Oh... and it appears that I am obnoxious and disliked."

"Nonsense, John."

"Maybe it's true. What am I bothering for? After all, even if we do get this article published, who's to say it will take us anywhere? Maybe I'm just unable to face reality. Abby, I feel like I'm not even fighting for a cause anymore. I'm just... drawing attention to myself." Abigail went over his words in her mind for a few minutes, absent mindedly tossing the basketball from side to side, and began to study his face.

"John... How can you know so little of yourself? And how can you think so little of me as to believe that I, Abigail Smith, would ever even _consider_ going out with the man you just described? I admit, John, you have your moments of being a complete imbecile... But don't you remember what you've always told me every time I think of dropping a class when it's too hard or leaving a program when it takes up too much of my free time? 'Commitment, Abby. Commitment!' You are the most committed person I've ever met. And don't think that that's not one of the reasons why I love you." Adams looked up startled.

"Did you just say... You... love...me?" Abigail did not reply but shuffled from foot to foot. "Well well well!" He pompously exclaimed.

"Now you don't have to be obnoxious about it!" she snapped.

"Yeah you're right." The gym grew silent and Abigail fearfully glanced up at John, who was running his fingers through his hair, not quite sure what to do or say. Finally, the silence was broken when a girl from the embroidery club ran out of the locker room.

"Hey Abby! The items you requested from chemistry class just came in." At first Adams ignored this totally random statement, but then, rapidly turned to Abigail, who was trying hard not to smile. Before anything was said, two large barrels were carried into the gym.

"Abigail..." he called out, curiously fondling the barrels. "What's in these kegs?!"

"Saltpeter, John!" His face beamed all over with delight.

"What happened to me using it to kill myself?"

"Well... I guess I'll have to trust you _sometimes_." He laughed for the first time that day. He looked down at his watch, feeling a new sense of pride, energy, and above all, commitment. He tried to think of a way to excuse himself without hurting her feelings, but before he could say anything, she interrupted him. "Go on, John. Finish what you've set out to do. And know that you have my unconditional support from now on." He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He prepared for the door, but before doing so, turned to her once more and whispered those three words she had been hoping to hear. At that he ran out of the gym, through the library, and into that old, dank newspaper room, a sense of optimism caressing him as it never had before.


	18. Chapter 18

18

"John! What are you doing here? I'm not even speaking to you!" Ben complained.

"There's no time for that! There's too much work to be done. Thomas, go out and find Edward Rutledge! Talk to him all night if you have to. Just make sure that he's coming back tomorrow! Ben, go find the rest of them. Make sure they're not upset about the little incident that occurred today."

"John-"

"Just do it, Ben! There's no time." After a brief moment of hesitation, Ben snatched up his crutches and stumbled out of the room. "McNair!" Adams called out. Mr. McNair sloshed into the room irritably. "McNair, go to Wal Mart and buy every pin you can find."

"Pin?! What sort of pin?!"

"Whatever the ladies use for their sewing!"

"What makes you think you can order me around?"

"Just do it!" McNair decided it would be easier to ask no more questions and waddled out of the room, grumbling all the way. For the first time, Adams glanced around himself, seeing that he was all alone. Silence had never seemed quite so sweet to him. He spent most of his life talking and when he wasn't talking he was thinking about talking. A world without noise was strange indeed. But this was soon interrupted by a little voice in the doorway calling out to him. He turned and saw the figure of Lyman Hall.

"Oh... Hello. I thought you were gone with the rest of them."

"I was, Mr. Adams. But then I got thinking. Originally, I thought I should just go with the crowd because I believed that if a large group of people had made the same decision, it must be correct. But then, about an hour ago, I started studying for my American History test. We're learning about the Founding Fathers. Now there was one particular man… I wish I could remember his name… who struggled more than anyone else for American Independence. He had a harder time than the rest because he naturally wasn't an overly friendly individual. But even when no one believed in him he fought for what he believed was right. If he went against the crowd, and you are going against them, I don't see why I can't. Long story short, you have my vote." Adams stared at him for few seconds and then gave him a slight nod of gratitude. And from there, Lyman Hall left him once again to return to his own thoughts.


	19. Chapter 19

19

The day had come. After all the work John Adams had put forth, the day he had been anxiously waiting for had finally arrived and with it would come either disaster or absolute victory.

Adams woke up early, ate a nutritional breakfast, showered, and dressed in his finest clothes. After all, it was a special occasion... Or at least it had the possibility of being a special occasion if a miracle were to occur. He rode his scooter with pride that day, hoping that the rust that had formed all over the front bar wouldn't rub up against him. But as it would happen, John Adams' day began with a very negative omen. As soon as he parked his scooter and ran up the steps to his locker, with whom should he collide but John Dickinson?

Both of their books went flying into mid air and collapsed around them. Adams naturally felt obligated to apologize, though by doing so he would be conversing with the absolute last person on the planet he had any desire to speak to. Dickinson ignored him and picked up his belongings, re-gathering them into his leather pack. Adams rolled his eyes and was about to go on his way when he realized that he had grabbed something that did not belong to him. It was a stack of letters, all addressed to John Dickinson from various universities around the United States. Though he naturally felt compelled to open the letters, he decided not to and to just return them to their owner. He nervously walked towards Dickinson, who was fumbling with his locker, re-turning the dial several times as though he had never opened it in his life.

"Uh..." Adams didn't know how to address him, but he did not need to. Dickinson glanced up startled and immediately put on his sour expression.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"These fell out of your bag. I guess I accidentally grabbed them." Dickinson looked down and as soon as he realized what they were, he violently snatched them away. Adams waited a moment to see if he would receive a thank you. After a couple of seconds he realized that he was not going to so he turned to leave. But for some reason, he had to know what the letters were about, and the only way to find out was to ask, even though he was fully aware that asking such a question would undoubtedly end with him being barked at. "Dickinson, I couldn't help but notice that those letters were all from universities."

"So?"

"Well... I was just curious to know... why exactly you're receiving letters from universities."

"Not that it's any of your business... but... I _was _attempting to skip the next two years of high school and go directly into college." Adams took a step back. He was definitely not expecting this.

"Oh... Well... Congratulations. I'm sure you'll have a _terrible_ time choosing which Ivy League school to go to first." At this, Dickinson slammed his fist against his locker furiously, leaving a large dent in the side of it. Adams stood still, too frightened to walk away.

"They don't want me, ok?! I'm a failure!"

"What?" Adams asked, shocked. "You didn't get in?"

"No, I didn't get in! That's what I just said, stupid! Mary's father told me that with my grades I could get into any college I wanted and I shouldn't waste any more time in high school. He told me that I should apply to _any_ school I wanted and he would be _sure_ to write nice little letters to the schools on my behalf. Well guess what? He didn't write the letters at all! So now, these universities all think I'm the biggest moron in the world! Look at this!" Dickinson grabbed a letter from the pile and shoved it in Adams' face. "Read it. Basically it says that my grades would hardly make me a possible candidate for their schools and skipping two grades in high school would make me an even bigger idiot than I already am!" Adams read through the letter and after a moment looked up at him, not sure what to say. Students were beginning to stare at them and Adams felt himself shifting from side to side uneasily. "And on top of it all, I was so upset that I got into a huge fight with Mary and now she won't even talk to me! So pardon me, dear Mr. Adams, if I'm not feeling too cheery about the prospect of choosing my future Ivy League School!"

"Look... John... May I be frank?"

"No one's ever stopped you in the past!"

"Well, to be honest, if you weren't such a little snake all the time maybe you'd actually get what you want." Adams started walking forward in a way that made Dickinson step back, intimidated. "But you make it clear that all you want is to make life easier for you and if you hurt the little guys like me in the process, so be it. I'm sorry if I don't have a lot of pity for you, but at this point, I don't really think you need pity. I think you need a good belt in the mouth!"

"Oh really? And... are _you_ gonna give it to me?" Adams thought for a moment, feeling his fist clench.

"No... I'll cut you a break, since it appears that the world has given you a good beating already today." Dickinson looked down and started to smile sourly as Adams began to walk away.

"That's what I thought. Go on, _Shorty_! Don't you have a test to fail? Or maybe there's a worthless cause out there that you can waste your time with. I wouldn't want to stand in your way. Actually... I would!" Adams looked down at his feet, feeling his cheeks swell with rage. His knuckles were turning white, but he had to maintain control... He couldn't lose his head... He must control his temper... But this was the final straw.

Adams wasn't really quite sure _exactly_ how it happened. Everything just sort of blacked out, of course. But within ten seconds, he awoke from his subconscious to find himself standing over Dickinson, who was sprawled out on the floor. Adams looked down at his knuckles, which were now scraped up terribly. But that was nothing compared to the right side of John Dickinson's face, which was now puffy and drenched in blood. Before a teacher could find him, Adams quickly made his way far from the crowd, which had formed around him.

"Well," he thought to himself. "If there was ever a chance of persuading Dickinson to come to his senses, I guess it's gone now." He quickly slipped into his Algebra class, got out his textbook, and wiped his knuckles with a paper towel, hoping to dispose of all evidence that could link him with the outburst in the hallway.


	20. Chapter 20

20

"Ok, gentleman," Hancock commenced, seating himself in front of the large group of writers. "It's time for the final vote. Charles... You can begin."

Charles Thomson picked up a notebook and pencil and stood up in front of the class next to Hancock. "If you want the two petitions recently written by Richard Lee and Thomas Jefferson to be published in our next issue, signify by saying yea. If not, signify by saying nay... Samuel Chase..."

Samuel Chase held up his finger, suggesting that he must swallow his peep before opening his mouth to answer. Finally, he managed to utter, "Yea."

Thomson put a tally on the right side of the paper. "George Read..."  
Read hesitated for a moment, but when he glanced down the hallway and saw Senor McKean's threatening glare he quickly stuttered a nervous, "Yea!"

"John Witherspoon..."

"Yea!" he called out confidently.

"Stephen Hopkins..."

"Yea."

"Caesar Rodney..."

Caesar gave one quite cough into a napkin before he mumbled, "Yea."

"Ben Franklin..."

"Yea."

"Thomas Jefferson..."

"Yea."

"John Adams..."

Adams smiled, feeling that it was rather silly that he actually had to say it. "Yea!"

"Lyman Hall..."

Lyman Hall looked down and began to run his finger down a column of his history book. Finally, he looked up bravely and declared, "Yea." Rutledge gave him a slight sneer and turned away, offended.

"Joseph Hewes..."

"Uh... I'm going to respectfully yield to Edward Rutledge." The entire room turned to Edward nervously. He pretended not to notice, but eventually he lazily got out of his chair and strode towards Adams.

"Well, Mr. Adams?" Adams looked up irritably.

"Well, Mr. Rutledge?"

"You must believe that I _will _do what I said I was goin' to do. Remove the _offendin' _passage."

"Edward, if we take it out, we'll be guilty of what we ourselves are rebelling against."  
Rutledge glanced out the window, a quick expression of guilt masking his face. But just as quickly as it arrived, it was replaced with a stubborn grimace. "Never the less... _Remove it_!" Adams did not know what to do. He turned to Ben whose eyes were desperately begging him to give in. Next, he turned to Jefferson, who was absent mindedly doodling on a scrap of paper.

"Jefferson, say something!"

"I don't know what can be done."

"Well, you're the one who wrote it!"

"I wrote _all _of it." Adams turned around the room, realizing that out of all the people who were supporting his cause, he was the only one who had been willing to throw it all away over this one issue. He said nothing, but leaped up, snatched the petition from Thomson's desk, and furiously scratched out a small portion of Jefferson's writing. He thrust it to Rutledge.

"There... Keep your narrow-minded prejudices, little good may they do you. Now VOTE!" Rutledge glowered, gave the petition a quick glimpse and calmly placed it back on Thomson's desk.

"Joseph Hewes and I... vote YEA!" Adams took his seat, feeling as though everything he stood for had just been smashed into dust. Ben saw this and quickly slid over to the desk next to him.

"Don't worry, John. Maybe in the future we'll be able to fix it." Adams did not respond but gave Ben half of a grin, just to keep him at ease.

Thomson continued with the voting. "James Wilson..."

Before James Wilson had a chance to say anything, Dickinson stood and walked towards Hancock's desk. "I'm sorry for all the inconvenience such _distinguished_ men as John Adams were put to just now. You might as well have kept your document in tact, for all the good it will do you. James... Give your vote."

Wilson cleared his throat and was about to speak when he was interrupted one more time.

"James," Ben urged. "Consider what your doing. You're about to make a vote that could be the very reason why this school will never get better... ever! Extra curricular activities will be cancelled, students will be denied any rights, and the whole school will begin to decompose right before your eyes... And who will the students have to blame... but _you_?" Wilson gazed into space, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. At first, Dickinson took no notice of this, but when he realized that Wilson still hadn't made his vote, he started to feel anxious as well.

"Come now, James! Nothing has changed. Franklin's just trying to confuse you with one of his mind games. Don't let him get to you." James rotated his head to look at Dickinson, whose voice was beginning to crackle, as though he were agitated.

"John... Ben is right about one thing. If I vote with you, I'm going to be the reason why all the students at this school will suffer. Whereas, if I vote with them... I'll just be one among a dozen. I'm sorry, John. I don't think I can take that kind of pressure."

Dickinson began to pace the room uneasily, clutching at the large bruise on the right side of his face. "And is that how you're going to make decisions for the rest of your life? Just trying to fit in with the crowd, is that it?!"

"I know you're disappointed in me... But my vote... is yea!" Dickinson took a step back, his complexion going white. For a moment, the students were briefly concerned that he might pass out. Charles Thomson, however, soon lost interest in the state of John Dickinson, and cheerfully made another tally on the right side of his paper.

Dickinson stood closer to Wilson. "James!" he moaned quietly. "I thought we were friends."

Wilson looked away, pain stricken. "I really am sorry to hurt you, John. But... I think it's time that we... maybe hung out with different people. It's not you, John, really. It's just... You know that girl from French class... Rachel Bird? Well, we've been secretly engaged for the past year and yesterday I asked her if we could elope."

The entire room jumped from their seats and whipped around to Wilson. "WHAT?!" they all cried out in unison.

Wilson became puzzled. "I guess we did a good job at hiding it. Anyway, I hope I can trust you all to keep this secret. We're going to Kentucky tonight and will be back by Sunday. Whatever you all do, _don't_ tell our parents!" Feeling no need to explain himself any further, Wilson reseated himself and began to leaf through his notebook. Dickinson, who looked as if he had just been smashed with a ton of bricks, stumbled towards the window, gasping for air. Thomson turned to Hancock, unsure of whether or not it was appropriate for him to ask Dickinson for his vote. Hancock nodded in affirmation.

"John Dickinson...Yours is the final vote." Dickinson swiveled towards the group tensely. He turned his gaze from Thomson to Wilson, and finally to John Adams.

"It's all up to you," Adams whispered, with a pleading gaze.  
Dickinson swallowed with difficulty and staggered towards Hancock, giving Adams a look as if to say, "I've lost my future, my girlfriend, and my best friend all in one day. How could you make it any worse for me?" But though Dickinson's expression did in a way draw out a sense of sympathy, Adams felt his heart leap inside him rejoicing, for at that moment, he knew that he had finally won. Dickinson attempted to swallow though his mouth was as dry as sawdust, before finally giving his response:

"I cannot... with a clean conscience, sign such a document... For I feel as though by doing so, I would be betraying everything that _I_ stand for... I will never stop hoping that one day, this paper will be able to reconcile with the school board... But... If everyone in this room thinks that by publishing these articles, they will be improving this school, which I, in my own way, hold up just as dearly as does John Adams... I cannot stand in the way." Adams gripped the sides of his desk fearfully. "Hancock... I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm quitting the school paper... So I guess my vote doesn't matter anyway." No one dared to speak, but they all watched as Dickinson somberly began to gather his belongings into his leather pack one last time. Before he left the room, Adams boldly addressed him.

"Gentlemen of the paper, I say ye, John Dickinson." Dickinson briefly turned to Adams, but for once, wasn't giving his sour glare. He quietly left the room, leaving Adams to revel in his victory. Yet, Adams was not nearly as happy as he imagined he would be. He was definitely pleased that all his hard labor was finally producing results, but he just wished that things could have been different. But there was no point in being gloomy. There was plenty of more work to be done. Hancock got up from his desk and took the petition from Thomson.

"All right. Step right up! Don't miss your chance to be expelled!" The students chuckled nervously.

"Wait!" Adams called out. "I have a change to make to the petition!"

Hancock's jaw dropped. "You, John Adams?!"

"Yes! I don't see why that's so odd. Jefferson, you wrote the word 'inalienable'. It's '_un_alienable'."

Jefferson thought for a moment. "No, 'inalienable' is correct, John Adams."

Adams smiled patronizingly. "Jefferson, I happen to be in six different writing clubs."

"Yes, and I happen to be in seven."

Hancock decided that it was his job to end the debate. "Thomas Jefferson, will you yield to John Adams' request?"

Jefferson thought for a moment and then began to smile deviously. "No, sir. I will _not_!" Adams crossed his arms indignantly and slouched in his seat.

"Very well. I withdraw it," he pouted. Ben gave him a good-natured punch on the arm. Adams smiled, trying to be good-natured about it as well, though secretly he was wondering if Ben's blow was going to leave a bruise. "I'll force McNair to change it later," he mumbled under his breath.

Returning to the matter at hand, Hancock took up a pen a boldly signed the paper.

"That's a pretty large signature," Hopkins remarked.

"It's so Mr. George can read it _without_ his contacts." He smiled proudly at his huge name and placed the paper back on Thomson's desk. "Ok... Who's next?" No one raised their hand. "Come now! If Mr. George were to come in now, I would be the only one to get in trouble!" Finally, Adams stood and approached the document. He too took the pen and signed his name. "Very good, John," Hancock commended.

"Thank you John." Adams sat close by, preparing to observe the rest of them, making sure that they _all_ signed. The next one who was brave enough to come up was Ben. After him was Jefferson, then Witherspoon, Hopkins, Hall, and so on. The last of course was Edward Rutledge. He sauntered in front of them, bouncing his wavy hair from side to side. Adams didn't want to say anything, fearing that he might irritate Rutledge (something that he could not afford to do at the present time), but he didn't see why that little Southern belle felt the need to show off his assets _all_ the time!

Finally, the procedure was done. Hancock skimmed over the paper one last time. Adams noticed that while reading it, his hands were shaking. Hancock called out for McNair. "McNair... Take this as well as Richard Lee's article down to the printing room. I want two hundred... No... Make that six hundred copies made. I want _every_ student to have the opportunity to read it."

"Six hundred? I thought the limit was fifty!"

"What?! Is Mr. George going to get angry because we wasted paper?!"

McNair took the paper hesitantly. "Ok, Johnny... You sure you want to do this? You're not gonna get scared the second I hand out the papers tomorrow, are ya?" Hancock scoffed and tapped his fingers on his desk.

"Mr. McNair... I'm already scared."

And at that, McNair left the room, both petitions in hand, and diligently crossed the hall to the printing room. No one spoke for a while. And in that time, all that could be heard was the sound of ink being pressed into newspaper, and the deafening beats of over a dozen hearts, all of which were wondering what dark fate would be waiting for them in the next few days to come.


End file.
